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Roundup!
The Hughston clan's been riding, roping and running since 1895.
By Michael Perry
Every once in a while you pull around some rig, or it pulls around you, and something — a bumper sticker, a nickname on the door, a gewgaw propped on the dash — catches your eye. And, because of what you've seen, you try to get a better look at the figure behind the wheel. You think, bet there's a story there.
If you run out California way, or up through lower Michigan, or places in between, maybe you've pulled alongside a well-kept conventional and seen the words, "Trucking in Memory of Bill Hughston." You thought, bet there's a story there.
Bonnie Hughston is standing in the middle of a cow pasture near McBain, Mich., trying to round up her boys. It's summer, sunny and hot, but it's getting late in the season — the alfalfa and clover have turned twiggy, and the dandelion greens are going purple. A pair of photographers have lugged their equipment here to shoot pictures for a magazine cover, and one of the boys is missing.
Bonnie turns to the four men behind her. "Where's Lum?" "Lum" is short for Laramie, and there's part of the story. Back when their firstborn was due, Bonnie and Bill Hughston were working the rodeo circuit.
"We jokingly said his name was going to be Dallas Hughston — a real rodeo name," she recalls with a giggle. "We joked about it so much, that by the time he was born, it didn't sound funny anymore. Well then, after naming one Dallas, you can hardly name the next one Bob or Bill, so he became Denver. From then on, it was a case where, while I was in the hospital havin' babies, the nurses were lookin' up names in the atlas."
The result? Five sons: Dallas, 45, Denver, 40, Laramie, 37, Star, 33, and Laredo, 29. Only Star escaped the map treatment — he's named after his grandfather.
On the road since 1895
Bonnie grew up in a cattle family. When she was 14, she started working the rodeo circuit as a trick rider. Along the way, she got sweet on a young bareback rider named Bill Hughston. Bill's family was in the cattle business too. According to a shipping invoice tacked to a shop wall, Bill's granddaddy was shipping cattle from McBain to Detroit at least as far back as 1895. When rail went into decline, Bill's daddy got a truck and started hauling his own cattle. Young Bill rode along, and as soon as he was old enough to drive, he began making the run to the Detroit yards on his own.
In 1950, Bonnie and Bill got married. "I already had a herd of beef cows," recalls Bonnie. Between the two of them, they had ingredients for a full life: Trucks, cattle, and rodeo. And, before you knew it, their own little passel of cowboys.
"We used to practice roping all the time," says Dallas. "It got to be whenever anybody picked up a rope, all the dogs ran for the woods." The boys all did some rodeoing, and Bonnie still competes in roping events. Denver was a rodeo bullfighter for years, was thinking about retirement when a Brahma got him down, busted three ribs, and made his decision for him.
The Hughston family is still in the trucking business. Dallas is leased to Van Eerden Trucking and runs produce out of California. Laredo ("Raid"), runs the same route, leased to RJW Trucking. Denver has a local run, hauling wood chips with a seven-axle trailer. Laramie runs a cattle truck for his own trucking company. Even Star, best known for his talent with cattle and a rope, will occasionally help out on a Texas run, but he's more at home in a saddle than a cab. "He's the only one of us smart enough not to do it," chuckles Dallas. Then he chuckles again. "'Course, he's a cowboy, so I guess he ain't real bright either."
Bonnie sold some of the trucking business to Lum a while back, but she still runs produce and cattle in four rigs, and the boys have pulled them around for the photo. On the road beside the pasture, a steady stream of pickups and horse trailers pass by, on their way to the Cow Camp Rodeo, an International Pro Rodeo Association (IPRA) event held on the Hughston property each year.
Behind the trucks, a few Hughston cattle are nose-down, slowly mowing their way across a field, and the photographers hope they'll graze into frame. Someone hands Dallas an electric razor, and, bending down so he can see himself in his chrome front bumper, he sneaks a quick shave.
Then Lum arrives, and as he takes his place, you have Bonnie Hughston's full life on view: The trucks, the cattle, the rodeo traffic, the circle of sons. Everything in one big picture. Everything, that is, except the man who gave his name to it all.
"Cowboy Christmas"
Years ago, Bill Hughston started running cattle on a 450-acre patch northwest of McBain. During calving season, someone had to camp with the herd around the clock, and since it was a fair drive from the home place, Bill Hughston built a bunkhouse out there in the trees. Time passed, and the boys were asking for a riding arena, and so he put one in over by the cow camp bunkhouse.
Eventually the neighbor kids and 4H groups took to using the ring. Then locals started showing up to rope. Before long there were two arenas, and they kept expanding. Pretty soon — in the midst of working the rodeo circuit, raising beef and running a trucking business — the Hughstons were hosting informal rodeos.
Then Bill's health went south. Kidney failure. Dialysis every other day. But then, new hope: A kidney transplant. "After the transplant, he lived a very normal life," says Bonnie. By way of thanks, the family began holding an annual hog roast and rodeo to raise money for other kidney patients.
The event kept growing, and when the family obtained IPRA sanction, they were able to upgrade to "Cowboy Christmas" status, in which winners collect money and valuable points toward a national championship. Today, the Cow Camp Rodeo is a favorite stop on the IPRA circuit, attracting cowboys from all across North America. Thanks to his new kidney, Bill Hughston lived to see his little roping ring filled with the best ropers and riders rodeo has to offer. But in 1989, he faced a new battle. This time it was congestive heart failure, and this time there was no answer. On Sept. 29, 1989, Bill Hughston died.
Rodeo Memories
The sun was buried deep in the west by the time the photographers set their gear back up just outside the Cow Camp Rodeo bucking chutes. Behind the bleachers, the old bunk house is strung with party lanterns. A band is loading in for a dance to follow the rodeo. More than 600 campsites — from RVs to pup tents and one genuine tipi — are scattered through the trees and clearings.
There are cowboys everywhere, walking that cowboy walk, pigeon-toed and stiff-hipped, slightly bent at the waist, even the youngest of them looking a tad stove up. You could armor plate a Lincoln Continental with all the dinner plate belt buckles on parade.
The rodeo is a three-day affair. Each evening kicks off with Bonnie leading a grand entry cavalcade. At one point, the entire Hughston clan, from Bonnie on down to the tiniest bobble-hatted, pony-riding granddaughter, rides into the ring, lining up to honor the crowd, the flag and the memory of Bill Hughston. It's a cavalry's worth of family.
Then it starts. Calf-roping, bronc riding, and steer wrassling. The crowd is stacked thick and high along both sides of the oblong arena. Some cowboys win, some cowboys lose, and the crowd cheers each the same. At intermission, the crowd stays put for a wild cow milking contest. The last distinguishable sound from the bleachers before they turn the milkers loose on the milkees is a woman's voice: "Charlie! Take your glasses off!"
By the time of the main event — bull riding — the constant beat of hooves and tumbling cowboys has put a steady haze of dust in the air. The circle of bright lights and overhanging trees make it seem as if we're snug in a soft little bubble, or one of those glass globes where you shake up snow, only here it came up dust. The giant bulls buck and lunge, the tiny cowboys snap like rags in the wind, and when the last bull slings his rider to the dust, the crowd slides over to the bandstand, and kicks off a party that'll rattle the pine needles for hours.
Back behind the bleachers — empty now — there's this darkened little flower patch, gone dry and gray after the hot, dusty weekend. Somebody handy with a cutting torch has sculpted a simple silhouette of a horse and rider from a slab of sheet iron and planted it in the flowers. The name on the marker tells us it was placed in honor of Bill Hughston. Cattle, trucks and rodeo. Five boys and one merry rope-slinging widow. All delivered here by the hand of one man. All standing in memory of the young bareback rider that started it all.
And there's your story.
Good People, Shiny Trucks
Dallas and Laredo — the eldest and youngest of the Hughston clan, respectively — have recently started participating in truck shows such as September's event in St. Ignace, Mich. "We've had the shiny trucks for years — we just never went to shows," said Dallas (above). "We got an education the first time. We were awful green! We didn't know they judged the motors, we just had the outside shined up. At the last minute they told us they were gonna judge the inside — man, we were cleanin' our suitcases out! We scurried around, shining the motors, lining the tires up. I imagine we'll be learnin' for the next 10 years."
Maybe so, but Dallas' 1999 Peterbilt 379, with its 550 Caterpillar and 70-inch UltraSleeper, looks like it's already got a Ph.D. in shine. Asked what drew the brothers to show, he grins. "Shiny trucks. That chrome glaze over your eyes! Aw, we do it just for the fun of it. There's a kind of camaraderie. We've met some real nice people."
Queen of the Rodeo
Bonnie Hughston is 66 years old. She's a petite little package, but good luck keeping up. In addition to running the family trucking company and overseeing herds of beef and roping stock, she still works the rodeo circuit, and any tour of the Hughston spread includes a review of her deer stand. You won't make it out of the house without some stew or homemade cinnamon rolls. She'll talk your ear off, story after story, and after each one, she'll put one hand on her hip, crinkle her cheeks and sparkle up her eyes, and she'll laugh like, 'whaddya think o' them apples?' "
Hughston kicked off her rodeo career as a 14-year-old trick rider. "My brother liked to train animals, and he trained a Brahma bull to show at rodeos, a trick bull, and so it worked out good for me to trick ride."
She learned the rest of her trade from other trick riders. "The main thing in trick ridin' is knowin' your hand holds," she says. "They'd show me these things, and one of 'em actually sold me her saddle."
Today, after two knee replacements, Hughston no longer performs tricks, but she continues to compete in calf roping events, and estimates she made ceremonial appearances at more than 40 rodeos in 1999.
"I perform the patriotic opening pageantry with my horse and the flags, and then I take the champions of each event on a victory lap." When she thunders around the arena with her flag, her smile outflashes her spangles. "Very early on," she says, "I was taught that the secret to winning over a crowd is to make eye contact as if you see only one person and are saying, 'Oh! There you are!'"
Hughston's trucking and rodeo careers frequently intersect. Her annual hometown rodeo is sponsored by Michigan Kenworth and Dermody Truck Sales, both of Grand Rapids. And sometimes she says, she can hitch a free ride along the rodeo circuit.
"I went to the rodeo finals in Oklahoma City, and the boys had a run to California, so they took me in the semi. There were all these fancy cars at the hotel when they dropped me off." She giggles. "I said, 'You might be a redneck … if you come to the hotel in a semi'."
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