By, for Gays : A Rip-Snorting Rodeo With a Special Brand

No urban cowboys here. No electronic bulls. No designer jeans, satin shirts, shiny new snakeskin boots or fancy suede Stetsons to complete the effect.

Instead, the men and women milling through the holding area at the Los Angeles Equestrian Center over the weekend, grinning at strangers trying to mince their way through the manure, were the genuine item.

Their hands were calloused, their muscles tough, and they wore the sweaty, stained clothes and frayed chaps of people who have spent much of their lives on ranches and farms, who know the sizzling stench of cattle branding time, the bloody gore at castration time--and who have developed a healthy respect for the temperament of the stomping, snorting bulls and wild cows and horses in the holding pens all around them.

Around l40 of these cowboys, nevertheless, were about to risk broken limbs, concussions and gorings in an open arena before a crowd of several thousand in one of America’s oldest, most popular and most dangerous spectator sports of them all, the rodeo.

But, however authentic, however seasoned, or even macho the participants appeared, this was no ordinary rodeo, because it was all gay--the third annual such event sponsored by the Golden State Gay Rodeo Assn.

It was, consequently, marked by both touches of humor and moments of sadness not to be found elsewhere on the rodeo circuit, where gays seldom stray, however professional they may be.

Start with the opening ceremonies, which began with a long parade of participants from nearly a dozen Western states, then paid special honor to feminist attorney Gloria Allred, (named this year’s grand marshal for her work on behalf of gay rights and AIDS victims), then ended with a special tribute to Richard Bray, crowned “All Around Cowboy” at last year’s rodeo. He died of AIDS last week.

In one massive movement, the entire audience was on its feet, every cowboy hat off, heads bowed, as Bray’s best friend, Dave Wilson, entered the arena, leading Bray’s horse of 11 years with his now empty saddle. Tears streaming down his face, Wilson began his long, slow walk around the vast circle. The loudspeakers softly played Dionne Warwick’s sad melody “That’s What Friends Are For.” By the time Wilson’s journey was over, most people were crying with him.

But these people, especially, are fast learning to live with the death of their loved ones and so they quickly set their tears aside, until the next time, and the show went on.

Back in the holding area, cowboys were busy getting ready for the bareback bronc riding competition. Among them was Kelly Beckham, 21, of Tucson, a bright-eyed, wiry young hotshot who was clearly convinced that he was about to win every competition of the day.

“Hey, man, I ain’t been tossed off one of these damn ole nags all year.” He was also trying to line up a date for the evening--with a woman. “Hey, shoot,” he drawled. “I’m not gay! I’m bi -sexual, I got the best of both worlds, not like these other picky yokels.”

Other, older cowboys nearby just grinned at him. “Actually,” said his friend Irv Sittler, a Los Angeles psychotherapist, “I think he doesn’t yet really know what he is.”

Anyway, Beckham managed to stick to his bucking bronc for the required six seconds and strutted proudly about the holding area afterward, eager for his next victory in the wild cow riding event. His day was about to grow considerably less pleasant, however.

Meantime, up in the grandstands, if most of the crowd was gay (couples holding hands, by and large, being the only real way to tell), some most obviously were not. Including, in particular, a collection of 29 silvery-haired senior citizens, sitting in a group, watching the events with rapt fascination.

They were from the Deer Creek senior citizens complex in Topanga and their recreation director, who plans a trip for them each week, hadn’t told them until the night before that they were going, this time, to a gay rodeo. When she did, only three refused to attend.

And, all the others agreed, those three were, as one sweet-faced widow of 78 put it, “real jerks anyway.” All were enjoying themselves hugely Saturday, but said they had never before been to a gay event. Everybody, however, at least knew what gays are, except for one tiny, mostly deaf 84-year-old, who--much to the amusement of her colleagues--thought “gay just meant a bunch of people having fun.” And nobody bothered to try to straighten it out for her.

But from this particular group came perhaps some of the greatest wisdoms of the day. “When you reach my age, you realize that people are people. All that matters is life, and love. It’s such a beautiful thing, you should grab it wherever you find it,” said one woman, 74, who wouldn’t have her name printed because, she said, “I have three prominent sons, and, I’m sad to say, a couple of them are very narrow-minded. I would embarrass them.”

Barbara Nicholson, 70, a retired travel agent, had no such reservations. “My god, I’ve never seen so many handsome men in one place in my life!” she said with a laugh. “One young man came up and asked me if I was gay and I said, ‘No-- damn it !’ ”

Meantime, back down in the holding area, young Beckham was cussing up a storm. He had just been thrown, much to his humiliation, in the wild cow riding event. Moreover, he had hurt a hand. This caused him to threaten to drop out of the bull riding event.

“I’m jinxed today. If I can’t stay on no dinky-assed cow, I sure’s hell ain’t gettin’ on no bull !” The other, older ones smiled to themselves. For the worst was yet to come for poor Beckham. In one of the rodeo’s only comic, specifically gay events, contestants put on dresses for what they call a “wild drag race,” the object being to chase down a steer and ride over a finish line.

Beckham wore a cute purple print frock. And he was the day’s chief casualty when the steer knocked him off, then poked him in the forehead with a horn. When last seen, a bleeding Beckham, having ripped off his dress in a rage, was being taken to the hospital for an estimated 10 stitches. His language was unprintable, and, his wound being minor, a few of his colleagues finally allowed themselves to laugh out loud.

In fact, laughter and high spirits marked the entire day, which culminated in a night of entertainment from dance troupes, mostly cloggers, from around the West. A crowd of attractive, bright-eyed, shiny-haired people (only a handful of drag queens and bottomless black leather pants showed up), these people were clearly having fun.

Despite the fact that of all the many booths set up at the rodeo, selling everything from tattoos to T-shirts, the most popular was one providing information--and, good-naturedly, free condoms to women--from a group called Aid for AIDS.

Despite the fact, too, that some gay cowboys were still too intimidated to use their real names, even at this all-gay event.

And despite the fact, finally, that the only reason gay rodeos exist at all is because these men and women are rejected on the regular rodeo circuits.