A fourth generation rodeo clown dishes on life in the arena
Story by Lizzie Falconer
Photos by Blake Hamilton
Facing the crowd, Donnie Landis hoists up his striped suspenders and begins to speak into the microphone: “You know, there’s only one difference between that bull and my wife … about 30 pounds.” His face crinkles into a laugh as the crowd roars. Donnie’s red ball nose sticks out prominently from under the brim of his black cowboy hat.
Donnie is a veteran of the rodeo clown business. He’s worked the rodeo circuit for forty years, entertaining crowds and guarding bull riders all over the country. Recently, Donnie spent some time with Ethos to discuss the joys, the troubles, and the misconceptions of life as a clown.
Lizzie Falconer: What exactly does a rodeo clown do?
Donnie Landis: Well, basically a rodeo clown’s job is to be out in the arena and keep the flow of the event going. At a rodeo, generally there are seven or eight events. At a bull riding, you’re dealing with forty-five animals and forty-five riders, so there are times when the bulls aren’t getting loaded or there’s a lull. It’s basically the rodeo clown’s job to keep the flow of the event going. Spectators don’t realize there’s a breakdown or a lull because the clown is doing something funny. It’s all part of the show.
LF: What inspired you to be a rodeo clown?
DL: I’m a fourth generation rodeo cowboy. My dad was a rodeo clown and producer. He started an open rodeo association in California. My mom was a rodeo secretary. My granddad rode buckin’ horses, and my great-granddad was a pickup man. I’ve got pictures dating back to the early 1900s of my relatives rodeoing.
LF: When did you start?
DL: When I was four years old, I was helping my dad at the rodeos. I grew up in the back pens. I helped move the animals around when I was a young kid, and it kind of taught me how the animals acted. Getting involved in the sport was … something that was bound to happen—I’ve been raised around it. I started fighting bulls when I was twelve years old, and I just turned fifty this year. I’m not done fighting bulls yet, but you know, it’s inevitable that time will come to hamper something.
LF: So when you say “fighting bulls” what do you mean exactly?
DL: The bull riders get on these bulls, and they get on there for eight seconds. They’re wrestling around with a 1,600-pound animal, and they get a little disillusioned when the eight-second whistle comes around. The bull riders really don’t know where they’re at. It’s the rodeo clown’s or bullfighter’s job to get the bull’s attention and make sure the cowboy gets back behind the chutes or gets away from the bull.
LF: How do you deal with the fear of the job? I mean, that’s a big animal. DL: Well, it’s kinda like you’re driving down the highway in a Volkswagen and you got an 80,000-pound semi following you—nobody ever really thinks about that. You kinda get used to it. Yeah, there is a fear factor, but I’ve got as much respect for these bulls as I do for my wife. I look at it that way. I got to deal with them; I got to deal with her. That’s all I’m saying, you know?
LF: Have you ever been injured?
DL: Oh yeah. It’s a sport where injury is inevitable. It’s not if you’re going to get hurt but how bad you’re going to get hurt. I don’t really like going on about all my injuries much. There are some guys who’ll sit here and tell you the number of bones they’ve broke or how many times they’ve done this or that—it’s a contact sport. Once that whistle blows and time’s up, [the bulls] don’t care; they’re going to go on and do their job anyway.
LF: It seems like you’re older than the average rodeo clown …
DL: I’ve been around this game long enough that people think I’m a dinosaur. I’ve worked every major rodeo there is in the United States; I’ve been to the National Finals and worked the Calgary Stampede. When I took a break, everybody said, “Well, the guy got old, fat, quit,”—I did. But now I’m back, and it’s rock and roll. Game on.
LF: Are there any misconceptions you think people have about rodeos or bull riders?
DL: These guys are athletes nowadays. They’re not the old-time farmer-boy cowboys. If you see a guy drinking a beer and wearing a cowboy hat, well, maybe he is a bull rider, but I guarantee he’s not getting on one. Odds are, he’s just saying he’s a bull rider. Bull riding is great family entertainment and there are animals involved. I raised some bulls myself, like any kid in 4-H or Future Farmers of America or a kid who lived in an apartment and played with his Pokemon cards. When I raised my bulls, they were my Pokemon—I treated them great. These are my little animals, my jewels. These bulls are bred to do this. They’re just like racehorses. They have bloodlines that go way back to great buckin’ bulls, and that does make it harder on the cowboys because the bloodlines on the cowboys aren’t running as thick as the bulls’ are.
LF: How do the bull riders train?
DL: Training is tough. I’ll tell you what, it’s not like it was twenty or thirty years ago. Bull riders aren’t bar room guys. They don’t need a bottle of whiskey to jump on a bull and have wild times. These guys are thinking about making money and putting food on the table at home. You talk about American athletes—the world really needs to take a look at these rodeo cowboys. These guys are putting their lives on the line to make a dollar, to entertain people, and to keep Western heritage alive.
LF: How else has the sport changed since you began?
DL: The money, the money, the players. A long time ago, thirty to forty years ago, for a guy to end the year with twenty thousand dollars was a pretty good chunk of change. There are some rodeos that these guys can go to and win fifty thousand dollars in one eight-second ride—from rags to riches. That’s why I like this sport, it’s not one of them guaranteed deals. I could get wiped out by a bull tonight. One of these bull riders could get wiped out, but he’s still got a family to feed, and there’s no compensation there. So he’s going to have to grit his teeth and get his head out of his butt, so to speak, if that’s where it got stuck, and go on with it. The heart of America is in this sport. I don’t care what anybody says. The compassion and the love these guys have for one another is beyond a person’s realm.
RODEO LINGO
Seeing Daylight—When a cowboy comes loose from a bucking animal far enough for the spectators to see daylight between the cowboy and the animal.
Union Animal—An animal that bucks until the sound of the eight-second whistle, then quits.
Bull Rope—A flat woven rope, no larger than 9/16th of an inch in diameter with a bell attached to it. The rope is wrapped around the bull’s body, just behind the front legs, and then around the cowboy’s hand to help secure the bull.
Double Kicker—A horse or bull that kicks up with its hind legs, walks on the front legs and then kicks again with the hind legs before its hind legs touch the ground.
Freight-trained—When a person gets run over by a fast moving bull or horse.
Pickup Man—The cowboy on horseback who assists the bareback and saddle bronc riders in dismounting from their stock.
Re-ride—Another ride given to a saddle bronc, bareback bronc, or bull rider in the same go-round when either the stock or the cowboy is not afforded a fair opportunity to show their best.
Rank—A very hard animal to ride.
