Prison Rodeo
At the prison rodeo, a lot of bulls, some broken limbs and a small taste of freedom
From across the arena, Jeri Hekia and her 8-year-old grandson, Micah Craig, called out to Hekia's husband as he prepared for the rodeo.
"I love you, baby!" Hekia shouted across the bleachers while her grandson jumped up and down next to her waving a brown cardboard sign, which read, "I love you, papa, Good luck."
The exchange was the extent of their communication with Kevin Hekia, who waved his white cowboy hat at them from an area enclosed by razor wire and tall metal gates.
Hekia was one of 143 prison inmates from across Oklahoma who had traveled to the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester to participate in one of the nation's longest-running prison rodeos.
Were they not spending this hot, dusty Friday evening at the rodeo, Hekia and his 12 teammates would be sitting in prison cells at the Jess Dunn Correctional Facility in Taft, serving sentences for rape, murder, assault and numerous drug offenses. Hekia is serving 10 years on drug charges.
Billed as the world's largest behind-the-walls rodeo, the Oklahoma State Prison Rodeo has been a local tradition in McAlester for 67 years. Corrections employees and town residents often reflect on their earliest memories of the rodeo, along with other events tied to the prison, including several inmate escapes and a 1973 riot that left the facility in ruins, as benchmarks in their lives.
The event is also a financial boon for the 18,000-person town of McAlester, which sees its hotels fill to capacity the weekend of the rodeo. Most of the rodeo's 10,000 attendees travel from across Oklahoma and beyond to watch convicted murderers and drug offenders take their own lives in their hands against wild bulls and broncos.
Professional cowboys also lend their expertise to events like calf roping and steer wrestling, displays that are interspersed among the inmate competitions to fill time and add an air of grace to the otherwise gladiator-like ambience.
Prison officials aren't afraid to admit that this rodeo "gets pretty wild," especially those events spectators won't see in professional rodeos.
One, called "Money the Hard Way," pits inmates against a bull with a ribbon tied between its horns. The person who wrestles the ribbon from the bull's horns wins $100. In "Bull Poker," inmates sit around a plastic table while a bull charges them. The last person left sitting at the table wins.
The events have earned the rodeo a reputation for being one of the most unusual and brutal shows of its kind, even for a regular rodeo fan.
"You have events here that you won't see anywhere else," said Marilyn Jernigan, one of 4,000 attendees filling the arena Friday night. She and her husband, Douglas, traveled across the state from Yukon. "And with them being hardened criminals, that should make things a little more interesting."
"These guys are really out to win," added Jernigan's friend, Thelma McDowell, who said she was looking forward to the bull-riding event.
Others, like Jeri Hekia, made the long trek mostly to catch a glimpse of their confined family or friends outside the prison visiting center.
Hekia traveled three hours from Chickasaw, Okla., to watch her husband participate in bareback riding, one of seven events that test the inmates' mettle on bulls and broncos and against each other to compete for cash prizes and belt buckles, but most of all, glory.
Kevin Hekia's team from Jess Dunn — a facility named after the warden who founded the rodeo, only to be killed by inmates a few weeks before its debut in 1940 — were defending their champion title against inmates from 11 prisons, including two facilities for women.
"It makes me nervous, but he's crazy and I love him for it," Jeri Hekia, a self-described rodeo fanatic, said of her husband's participation in the event.
"And he loves to see his pawpaw ride," Hekia said, pointing to her skinny, grinning grandson. "He wants to be a cowboy when he grows up."
The event seemed especially exciting for the quiet boy, who last saw his grandfather more than three years ago, before he went to prison for manufacturing methamphetamines.
Jeri Hekia served eight months stemming from the same drug operation. She said the memory of her grandson crying as she was led from a courtroom in handcuffs inspired her and her husband to turn their lives around.
Being on his best behavior in prison not only increases Kevin Hekia's chance of being paroled next year, but also helped him grab a position on the rodeo team.
Participants earn their spots by competing against other inmates on a mechanical bull. They must also have clean conduct records and meet certain security requirements to be considered safe enough to attend the event.
The good old days
While bragging rights are a significant reward of the rodeo, Terry Crenshaw, the warden's assistant at the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, says the event also provides a coveted taste of freedom for people who normally spend 23 hours a day in a cell.
"It's kind of hard to realize what it means to them to be able to say they participated in an event like this," says Crenshaw, a lifelong McAlester resident who has worked at the institution for 12 years. "It also sort of gives correctional employees an upper hand; the inmates don't want to get in trouble, because if they do, they lose their right to participate in the rodeo."
But not everyone is enthusiastic about the rodeo. Critics have said the event is a misuse of tax dollars and rewards undeserving criminals with a violent outlet for their energy.
According to Crenshaw, however, the event is funded entirely from ticket sales and corporate sponsors, among them the Choctaw Casino, several local hotel chains and the McAlester Regional Health Center.
During a pickup-truck tour of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, Crenshaw brushed off the allegations as overblown assumptions from people who don't understand the nature of the prison system.
"Idleness is one of the worst enemies in corrections," said Crenshaw, who was dressed in his typical workplace attire of jeans, plaid shirt and cowboy hat. "You get a lot of people who, if their mind goes idle and there's nothing to look forward to, why wouldn't they kill someone or kill their cellie? We have a lot of murderers in here. This gives them something to look forward to."
Prison society is stratified according to security level, based on behavior. In this way, Crenshaw explained, there could be a murderer in a medium-security facility because he has proven to be less of a threat than a rowdy drug offender. With a lower security designation comes more privileges, including the chance to participate in the rodeo. All 13 inmates on the Oklahoma State Penitentiary rodeo team were maximum security inmates with low security designations.
The rodeo has also faced its fair share of criticism from animal rights groups, who believe the animals are poked and prodded with electrical shocks to make the show more interesting.
"We used to get them up here to protest, but they've stopped coming around," says Crenshaw, who insists the animals are treated humanely. Inmates from the Jackie Brannon Correctional Center in McAlester care for the livestock and raise its feed as part of its agricultural program.
Prison officials also face the challenge of maintaining the rodeo's relevance and popularity in the 21st century as it competes with other community events.
While the turnout for the rodeo still hovers around 10,000 spectators over two nights, prison officials admit they are struggling to return the event to its mid-20th-century popularity.
During a recent visit to the prison museum, corrections officer and volunteer tour guide Randy Roden recalled a time when the rodeo was a four-day event and among the most popular draws in Oklahoma for Labor Day Weekend.
With the event now down to two days, which includes a parade in downtown McAlester, this year marks the second time that the rodeo has fallen two weeks before Labor Day Weekend, a move inspired by dwindling attendance.
Over the years, Roden recalled, prison officials found that the rodeo began to compete with other events like high school football games and parades for spectators.
"As long as we have prisons and we have inmates, there will be a rodeo," said Roden, whose son and father have both worked in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. "Rodeo fans never get tired of seeing a good rodeo. And the inmates won't ever stop wanting to participate."
Ups and downs
The rodeo has remained a popular event for the residents of McAlester and the surrounding towns, many of whom began to converge upon the prison grounds more than two hours before the main event. Students sold event programs while children took turns on pony rides. Adults browsed the souvenir table for official hats and T-shirts, while mothers bounced infants on their hips as they waited in line for funnel cakes and hot dogs.
Inside the fortress-like walls of the arena, corrections officers doubling as ushers directed visitors to their seats on numbered bleacher benches, while snipers gazed down from three watchtowers perched atop the 35-foot walls.
In a corner of the arena where the spectator stands abutted the caged area holding female inmates from Mabel Bassett and Eddie Warrior Correctional Facilities, Lisa Jameson chatted with her parents while she prepared to ride a bull.
"There's just not enough jobs for all of them, not enough things to keep them busy," says Joyce Jameson, whose daughter is serving a 15-year sentence at Eddie Warrior for manufacturing methamphetamines and forging checks. She also works as a beautician for other inmates, cutting hair and giving them bi-monthly perms.
"She's been practicing for months now. She looks forward to this all year," said Jameson.
While the female inmates, dressed in numbered pink-and-purple western shirts, took turns speaking to their young children and husbands in hushed voices, many fighting back tears, others brushed their hair and suited up in protective gear for the events.
The capricious and violent nature of the sport became evident seconds into the start of the Mad Scramble, the night's first event.
After the 11 animals sprang from their chutes, the riders were strewn across the dirt in as many seconds, with one requiring the assistance of a stretcher to leave the pen.
On the third run during the steer wrestling event, a professional cowboy had to be carried out on a stretcher after a bull slashed him across the ribs with its horns.
"Life has its ups and downs," joked professional rodeo clown Ron Hunter, a 22-year veteran of the show and a high school principal, as the cowboy was carried out of the pen. "That's why God invented ice cream!"
The evening's first round of Bull Poker also resulted in at least one serious injury, less than 10 seconds after the bull lurched toward the six participants seated around a plastic table. The incentive to remain seated: $100. That amount can be a lot for an inmate whose monthly salary is $13.
Though most events are every man or woman for themselves, some require teamwork. In two rounds of the wild horse race, teams of three inmates try to wrestle a bronco to the ground so they can saddle it up, mount it and ride it past a finish line. Their tactics sometimes involve chewing on the animal's ear.
But the real glory is reserved for the two inmates who receive the best overall score after two nights of bull- and bronco-riding. In addition to cash prizes, they also receive a engraved belt buckle, which is donated by one of the event sponsors. To obtain a high score in either event, the rider must stay on for at least four seconds with only one hand on the animal. A panel of judges also rates them for form and style.
Money the hard way
In an event that professional cowboys spend years attempting to master, Friday night's rounds of bareback and bull-riding passed with little fanfare, except for some painful falls that provoked "oohs" and "whoas" from the audience.
Kevin Hekia fell off just short of four seconds, but appeared to relish the opportunity to run through the dirt and wave at his family, even after his legs were trampled by the animal.
After a series of quick falls by other inmates, James Nelson of the Jackie Brannon Correctional Center managed to brace against the bucking bull until a sharp toss sent him rolling under it. The animal reacted to the fall by stomping on Nelson's arms and running off. The display brought his fellow inmates to their feet cheering. Nelson attempted to pump his arms in triumph, but instead winced in pain and held his forearm, which was bent in half.
The big winner was Darryl Winters, a career felon from the Joseph Harp Correctional Center who has spent the last 23 years in and out of prison for armed robbery and burglary. After an impressive display on his bronco that brought the crowd to its feet, Winters successfully grabbed the ribbon from the bull's horns during Money the Hard Way.
Several other inmates had attempted to snatch the ribbon from the animal's horn by sneaking up from behind or darting side to side, but their efforts were met with sharp nudges and bucks that sent a few flying though the air or tumbling to the ground.
Winters withstood several pokes and jabs from the bull before grabbing the ribbon from his horns. As he ran triumphantly to the front of the arena, brandishing the ribbon, the rest of the inmates shuffled slowly behind him, talking and laughing.
"Ah, a moment of freedom," the event emcee remarked over the loudspeaker.
(Published by Court Tv News, September 3, 2007)
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