Stampede Time
ALTHOUGH Canadians are as proud of their country as the citizens of other lands, their task in focusing this particular sentiment is by no Means an easy one; the intransigence of different racial groups has prevented agreement on either a flag or a national anthem, and a mere graph showing the increase in industrial production, though it may prove of more significance in the long run, is hardly the type of symbol on which patriotic emotion can be persuaded to concentrate. Moreover, the vast geographical size of Canada encourages the formation of local rather than national allegiances; and, of the former, none is more widespread than the cult of the West, which finds its most self-assured and articulate expression during the week of Calgary's annual Exhibition and Stampede.
It should perhaps be explained at this point that Western Canadians picture the Eastern half of their country as being a remote and unhealthy portion of the universe, nurturing Ottawa and the attendant evils of a rapacious and untrust- worthy Federal Government, and inhabited for the most part by people who are selfish, avaricious and unfriendly. By way of contrast, Westerners like to think of themselves as easy- going, generous and hospitable beyond compare. Whether either of the conceptions expresses the final and complete truth is a question which it would be certainly unprofitable and possibly dangerous to pursue, and visitors from the East who have so warped an outlook as to argue that informality is not necessarily the supreme virtue, do so at their peril. But myth or not this mystic vision of the friendly West is fostered and cherished with an admirable combination of idealism and commercial acumen; and less than five weeks after the Coronation had drawn Alberta's attention to the heritage which it shares with the rest of Canada, the people of Calgary were once more celebrating those special qualities which set the West apart from and above that portion of their country less richly endowed—and, incidentally, putting on The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth.
In honour of the great occasion, the city's main throughfare is adorned with row upon row of illustrated placards suspended from lamp-posts and inscribed "Welcome, Pardner," "Howdy, Folks" and (somewhat obscurely) "The Latchstring Is Out ' ; during Stampede Week groups of cowboys assemble in the downtown shopping area and, in between bouts of yodelling to the accompaniment of accordion and guitar, dish out free bacon and flapjacks to bemused visitors, the majority of whom have so far succumbed to the dude-ranch atmosphere as to supplement their normal attire with a ten-gallon hat; failure to do so is regarded as unfriendly, and the highest approval of local haberdashers is reserved for those who enter fully into the fiesta spirit by purchasing exotically embroidered silk shirts at appropriate prices. . This is not to suggest that the Stampede is merely a publicity stunt contrived solely for the purpoSe of establishing Calgary's fame and enriching its citizens at the expense of well-heeled tourists; the fact that these two happy results have been incidentally achieved is considered by those responsible to be less the proper reward of their own shrewdness than an indica- tion that the entire project is regarded with particular favour by a kindly and discriminating Providence. Indeed this view may well be correct since, although the Stampede makes few concessions to the effete tastes of visitors, total attendance continues to rise at a phenomenal rate and this year was within reasonable reach of the half-million mark.
The opening event, which takes place on the Monday morn- ing of Stampede Week, could hardly be anything except a parade a l'Americain, in which every conceivable organisation —from the Mounties to the Shriners, from Esso petrol to the United Nations—is represented; portly middle-aged business- men in purple fezzes plodded wearily ahead of a contingent of girls in Scottish kilts, while a tableau of bathing beauties draped on a flower-decked float sporting the emblem of a local brewery followed hard on the heels of two obscure Hollywood actors who happened to be in town for the occasion. And then, of course, there were cowboys and Indians: cowboys by the hundred, some in horse-drawn wagons warbling bravely over loudspeaker systems that obstinately refused to work, others—lean, tanned men in faded jeans and dust-covered work shirts, hats well down over pale blue eyes and casting into shadow the two-day growth of beard, cigarettes drooping from thin lips—riding morosely past on extremely handsome horses, looking neither to right nor left and somehow remind- ing one irresistibly of bit-players from the cast of High Noon. And Indians—Indians of all shapes and sizes, drawn from Alberta reservations of the Blackfoot, Sarcee and Stoney tribes, riding down the crowd-lined street with the bored and disdain- ful expression of lions in a circus, the representatives of a proud people defeated in war and segregated in peace. No one appeared to think it odd that the first contingent was followed by a glittering municipal garbage truck, snorting aggressively like an impatient bloodhound, and draped with a large white banner which read "Help Keep Our City Clean ! " No one seemed to think it remarkable that one of the young braves should be wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. And no one heard the anguished cry of a long-cherished illusion biting the dust for the last time.
The parade lasted for just over two hours and was watched in almost complete silence by a crowd of 80,000 people; they were silent not from mere apathy nor because they were filled with awe, but simply because Canadians are by nature impassive; and though they may be impressed by pageantry and spectacle, they are seldom stirred by it to anything beyond a polite spattering of applause. "Not so good as last year," said the connoisseurs regretfully after the last boys' band had trudged by, its big drum thumping disconsolately; perhaps the drum-majorettes were a trifle less robust, the floats not quite so lavish as in the past. But, after weeks of recurrent hail- and thunder-storms, the sun was at last shining brightly: Stampede Week was off to a good start.
The word Stampede is more than a little misleading to the uninitiated in so far as it conjures up a mental picture of a large and disorganised herd of cattle abruptly vacating their original locality without having given the matter due considera- tion; in fact, it would be difficult to imagine any event in which animals are of necessity the principal, participants being more efficiently run than Calgary's combination of an American rodeo, the Royal Agricultural Show, Derby Day, and Blackpool on an August Bank Holiday.
The afternoon events take place in the centre of an oval- shaped race-track laid out in a park close to the heart of the city; across the track a large covered grandstand has been erected, flanked on each side by exposed "bleachers." The events themselves are more or less similar to those featured in rodeos all over the Western United States and consist of calf-roping, bronco-riding, steer-decorating and other contests requiring the use of those peculiar skills which were at one time —and in some cases still are—required of the professional cowboy. A great many of the contestants, who are attracted both by the prestige of the event and also by the lure of sub- stantial- prizes, come from across the border—from Montana and Wyoming, from Arizona and Texas—and distinctions of nationality are for the moment quite obscured by the bond of Western solidarity.
During each afternoon the spectators see not so much a spectacle as a comparative display of esoteric talents: to the layman, one cowboy remaining attached to, or being dislodged from, a wildly plunging and oscillating bronco, looks very much like another, and it is no easy task to assess the relative degree of skill displayed by each contestant. However, the crowd is clearly knowledgeable in these matters, and such breaches of good taste as inadvertently roping a calf by the hind leg are regarded with icy disapproval. But it is the so-called " Chuckwaggon Races," which take place in the evening, that Calgarians regard as the unique feature of the Stampede; this is spectacle pure and simple, with the four teams in each heat careering wildly round the track, obscuring the outriders in a swirl of dust and bringing the excited crowd to its feet at the prospect of a collision or a photo-finish. For some reason an event of this nature, with its elaborate manceuvrings at,the start and intricate system of penalties, makes the ordinary horse-race seem positively Insipid by comparison, and for once the noise of thundering hooves is sufficient to stir one's blood without the ancillary services of a pari-mutuel ticket.
And afterwards, on a stage hauled into place on the race- track itself, there is a variety show, complete with not one but two girls being fired from a cannon, and finally an elaborate firework display. Those possessing sufficient stamina can then visit The World's Largest Midway, an imported American fun-fair boasting side-shows of unprecedented vulgarity and " rides " of unparalleled capacity for inducing acute attacks of nausea.
But midways may be found anywhere, even in the East; the "Welcome Pardner " is peculiarly Calgary's own contribution.
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