This afternoon our little family headed out to participate in a Denver tradition -- the National Western Stock Show. Instead of shelling out twenty clams to park near the front entrance, I drove around to the back and pulled the car into a lot I knew of across from the stock pens. I parked in front of a handmade self-park sign, featuring a weathered image of Roy Rogers, and looked up at the old red brick office building.
This is where Tom and his family live. I have been loosely tracking Tom for the last two years, partly in a professional capacity in my former life as city planner, and partly for material as I’ve been trying out this whole writing thing. For sixteen days each year, Tom rakes in a steady business allowing Stock Show goers to park their cars on his property for five dollars a pop. For sixteen days a year, this place is hopping. For the rest of the year, though,Tom’s neighborhood is kind of a lonely one.
I filled out the self-park envelope, noting the make, model, and license plate of my car, and tucked a five dollar bill inside. And just as I was going to shove the envelope through the mail slot in the door, I noticed some movement behind the window. It was Tom, sitting at his desk at the other end of the room, wearing an orange mesh vest, the kind that parking attendants wear to help direct traffic. I knocked on the door and waved. He looked up, smiled and walked over to say hello. “Hi Tom!” I shouted through the glass door. “Just wanted to say ‘hey’!”
“Nice of you to patronize my business!” he shouted back.
It was a bit odd, all this shouting through the door. I mentioned something about wanting to check back in with him at some point to see how things were going on the neighborhood organizing front. I think I saw him roll his eyes a little, but he nodded nonetheless. His reaction instantly made me wonder if there’s been any movement in his efforts to find a pro-bono lawyer to sue the Colorado Department of Transportation over a proposed rerouting of Interstate 70 through his neighborhood. I’ll have to give him a call after the Stock Show packs up and goes away. We waved our goodbyes, and then I turned and marched the family across the road to the stock pens.
It was a crazy beautiful sunny day today, eerily warm for January in the Rockies. So it was really kind of nice getting to check out the stock yards as we walked along the system of catwalks that runs overhead. That’s Tom’s place in the background, just to the left of the water tower. And those are, I believe, fuel cars parked on the train tracks just across the street from his property. And then there are the stock yards themselves -- pen after pen, filled with remarkably well cared for bulls. Many of ‘em getting last minute grooming touch ups.
Last year, the highlight of the stock show -- and yes, we’ve gone for three years in a row now -- was the Mutton Bustin at the Mexican Rodeo. This time around, I was amused by the stick pony rodeo that was held in a revival style tent outside of the main exhibition area. Seriously adorable in a slightly disturbing little-kid-beauty-pageant kind of way.
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