Fastest Rope in the West

The dusty parking lot in San Angelo, Texas, was jammed with out-of-state cars from as far away as Pennsylvania, and the stands that were built to handle 1,400 spectators had to make do for 3,500. Unshaven cowboys in faded Levi's waved fistfuls of greenbacks and haggled over the odds with Houston oilmen in embroidered shirts. A volunteer comedian told ancient jokes to try to keep tension down as the crowd awaited the biggest rodeo event in years: a matched roping contest between two champion lariat handlers. The stakes were $3,700 in cash, a share of the bets, and undisputed claim to being the best calf roper in the world.

No Steers. The sport that made Will Rogers a rodeo star originated with the vaqueros of Spanish Mexico, spread across the West in the mid-1800s. At first, trail-driving cowboys practiced the art on range steers, but so many good beef cattle were crippled that steer roping was outlawed in Texas 60 years ago. Today's rodeo cowboys rope calves--mean Brahman calves that weigh up to 300 Ibs. and can smash a roper's ribs with one kick. The roper races against time: on horseback, he must run down and lasso a charging calf, jump off his horse, wrestle the calf on its side, loop three of its legs with a "pigging string," and finish off his handiwork with a nonslip "hooey" hitch. Expert ropers can do it all in ten seconds or less.

The two cowpokes who dueled fortnight ago in San Angelo are old and bitter rivals. The Texas favorite, Jim Bob Altizer, 30, was the Rodeo Cowboys Association champion in 1959, began roping chickens and dogs when he was still a toddler, graduated to goats at seven. "I've had a rope in my hands ever since I can remember," says Altizer, and his rope has won him a 38,000-acre ranch stocked with 600 Hereford cows, 6,000 sheep, 4,500 angora goats.

Against him stood the champion from Idaho, Dean Oliver, 33, who grew up as a field hand, never saw a big-time rodeo until he was 19. Sleeping on the ground and skipping meals to save money, Oliver taught himself how to handle a rope, won the first of his five Rodeo Cowboys Association championships in 1955. With $26,656 of prize money won on the rodeo circuit so far this year, Oliver was recognized as king of the ropers everywhere but in Texas. Said one show-me Texan: "We been followin' Jim Bob's tracks through the brush for years. Don't try to sell us on no Idaho dirt farmer."

Not Much. In a regular rodeo, the ropers get two calves apiece. This time it was twelve calves per man. and, by starting time, upwards of $100,000 had been bet on the match. "I'm not nervous," Oliver insisted. "Not much, anyway. But when you get a thing going like this, with money ridin', you try so much harder. It's the pressure that gets you--not the calves."

After the first four calves, only one-tenth of a second separated the two sweating cowboys. Then Altizer's fifth calf fell when it was lassoed. Roping rules require that a calf be brought up to its feet again and thrown by hand. It took Altizer 21.5 sec. to do the job. Oliver spurted into a 7-sec. lead. Doggedly, Altizer cut the lead to 2.9 sec.--but now he was pressing. He missed on his first attempt to lasso his ninth calf, had to whip out a reserve lariat and chase the calf again, lost a few precious seconds. "That done it," groaned an Altizer fan. "He's lost." At the end, Oliver's winning margin was 7.5 sec. The Texans glumly paid off their bets and demanded a rematch.

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