Published: January 17, 2008 10:34 am            

Winning the Claremore quirt raffle

“Sir, would you like to buy a chance on a quart?” the boy asked Wade.

He was 8 or 9 years old. We were packed like sardines into the stands at the Green Country Classic Ranch Rodeo in Claremore.

“Son, you mean a quirt,” the cowboy behind us corrected.

Wade was on the end of the row and I only vaguely heard this exchange because Steve Rexwinkle and I were discussing the first set of sorting cattle.

Someone hailed the kid and he scampered away. A little while later he returned.

“Sir, would you like to buy a chance on a quirt?”

“How much is the chance?” Wade asked, knowing it didn’t matter because it was a kid

selling chances and he always buys one.

“Five dollars, but it’s for the cowboy crisis fund.”

I heard this exchange out of my left ear, but it was not my focus as Steve and I were now discussing the second set of sorting cattle, ringier than the first, the set his son-in-law’s team would have to work.

Steve was our penner for years at South Coffeyville Stockyards. His son-in-law is Jerod Gofourth. Jerod and Steve’s daughter, Lynn, live on the old Thomas Ranch in Washington County and he cowboys for the One-Three Cattle Company with Billy Branstetter.

“Here, put your name on this,” Wade handed me a white card and a pen. I knew he gave it to me because he didn’t have his glasses on. All I knew was the chance was on a quirt. I hadn’t seen the quirt, didn’t know who made it, and in my mind it didn’t matter since I’ve never won anything in a raffle.

Just before the bronc riding, announcer Tim Fuller said they were going to draw for the quirt.

“If he draws my name I’ll faint,” I remarked. I’ve never fainted in my life.

“Kathy Parker,” Tim Fuller announced.

I was so startled I stood straight up. Fuller drew for a few other things and then said if the prizes weren’t claimed in five minutes, they’d draw again. Bad as I hated to miss a bronc rider, I started climbing over and around folks.

Becky Gagan was standing behind the announcers. She handles the prizes at the rodeo.

“What are you doing up here, Kathy?”

“Well Beck, I won a quirt and I don’t want them to give it away.” She gave me a spontaneous hug. “I’m so glad a cowgirl won it.”

“Doggone Becky, you’d better show it to me. What’s the deal?”

Becky Gagan was an Adcock. One of 12 children born and raised on the Cobb Ranch where her Daddy, E.J. Adcock, was the foreman for 27 years. Her nephew is Jay Adcock. He is a rawhide braider of some renown, a horse shoer, ranch hand and colt breaker. You can google him to see his braid work.

“It’s one of Jay’s,” she said as she rummaged to find the quirt. “It sold for $1,065 at the cowboy crisis fund auction, but the buyer donated it back so we could raffle it.”

She laid the quirt in my hands. Rawhide braided with numerous bands and buttons, parts of the work are in brick red color. The loop for your wrist is braided of the softest leather with another braided button.

“Hang that on your wall. You know he braids all kinds of stuff for Tom Selleck. Do you have

anything of his?”

I’ve met Jay several times and sometime ago asked about his braiding a bosal for me. At the time, Jay was behind on his braiding and I really didn’t have the price.

Astonished, I’d forgotten all about the bronc riding. On the way back to my seat, Keith Sumner’s wife stopped me two rows down. Keith plays for the Cobb Ranch team.

“I bid that to $750 at the auction before Keith made me stop,” she said. “But I have this he made.” She showed me her braided necklace with a spur rowel. One of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.

On the way out of the stands a woman saw me holding the quirt. “Oh you won it,” she said. “Jay’s my cousin. You know he uses raw liver to color that leather red. Do you have anything he’s braided?”

“No, we couldn’t get together on time and I really couldn’t afford it,” I said.

“Well, I get him to braid something for my husband every year,” she said. Then after a pause she added “but I’m sure he charges me full price.”

So because Wade bought a ticket on an item we had never seen, I have the quirt hanging in my living room. I had to move some other western stuff around to make a prominent spot on a wall that would show it best.

“I started to write your name,” I told Wade. “But then I thought ‘well, Wade doesn’t use a quirt and I do.’”

“You know it wouldn’t matter. I’d have given it to you anyway.” And he would.

Thanks, Wade.

        

• Click to discuss this story with other readers on our forums.