This Rodeo Will Set You Free

Outside of New Orleans, a group of men ride bucking Broncos and come face-to-face with bulls for more than a shot at a grand prize.

DECKED OUT IN A WHITE-and-black striped shirt and worn jeans, 26-year-old Giovanni Brown doesn't look like your average rodeo rider. The soft-spoken New Orleans native stands 5 feet, 8 inches, and is slightly built. On this particular steamy Sunday afternoon, the graphic arts teacher is sitting bareback on a wild horse, waiting in chute number three for his turn in the ring.

The first two riders draw roars from the crowd of 11,000 spectators. "I saw the first guy go, and he fell off right away. The other had his ear split. I didn't want that to happen to me," Brown says.

When his chute opens, the chestnut he was petting turns into 1,000 pounds of wild bucking horse. "I just kept saying to myself, 'Hang on, don't fall off, don't fall off,'" he recalls. "And I didn't."

Brown won the event, staying on for eight seconds and earning a $500 prize. He's also competed in everything from bull riding to wild horse racing, counting $850 as his top earnings.

While that's not a lot of scratch on the traditional rodeo circuit, for Brown, it's a fortune. He is serving life-plus-40 for armed robbery and aggravated kidnapping at Angola State Penitentiary - and the bi-annual Angola Prison Rodeo is his chance to feel free.

A TRADITION SINCE 1965 AND OPENED TO THE public in 1967, the Angola Prison Rodeo has come into its own under the direction of warden Burl Cain, the man credited with reducing violent incidents by 73% in the place once known as "The Bloodiest Prison in the South." Located 132 miles northwest of New Orleans and surrounded on three sides by the Mississippi River, Angola casts a mighty shadow. It's the area's largest employer, with close to 1,700 staff on the payroll. And The Farm, as its known, sits on 18,000 acres, and is home to more than 5,000 inmates, 3,700 of them in for life without parole.

For Brown and the inmates who take part (participation is predicated on good behavior), the rodeo - which takes place every Sunday in October and one weekend in April - offers a chance to win, something that doesn't happen too often when you're serving serious time.

For spectators, it's not quite as serious. Except for a search upon entering the grounds (no cell phones allowed), guys walking around in black-and-white-striped shirts and khaki-clad armed guards - who actually maintain a low-key presence - rodeo attendees almost forget they're in the state pen. "It doesn't feel like you're in a high-security prison," says Sammye Levy, who attended her first prison rodeo last October. "It was one of the best-organized things I've ever been to. And it felt safe."

Music blares, a children's play area is set up next to a watch-tower, and stand after stand of food concessions fill the air with the smells of fried cracklings and étouffée, a Louisiana specialty made with crawfish in a dusky roux base.

The crowd, including many of the prisoners' families, fills the inmate-built arena for what's billed as "the Wildest Show in the South," which is equal parts Wild West action, county fair and flea market. Inmates earn the privilege to work in the concession stands, perform in the prison band or sell their crafts, items like wooden furniture, silver jewelry and leather purses, crafted from materials they've paid for themselves.

"It's worth the trip just for the crafts," says New Orleans resident Deborah Landry, who attended last October. "They also sell jellies and hot sauce made by the prisoners. The Mayhaw jelly is better than my aunt's, and she's been making it for 40 years."

ON THE JOB SINCE 1995, CAIN has greatly expanded the rodeo's success. What once added $100,000 a year to prison coffers is now worth almost $2 million. An expansion of the rodeo grounds is now in the works. "All of that money benefits the inmates and prison infrastructure," Cain says. "There is no cost to the taxpayer. And the men pay tax on whatever money they earn, so that's a good thing."

Cain is a man who believes in redemption, and the rodeo is proof that his philosophy works. "I believe that people can change and that positive reinforcement works," he says. "Every man knows that if there was one problem, the rodeo would be gone. Nobody wants that to happen."

About 1,000 to 1,200 inmates participate in the rodeo. Most work the event or sell their goods, while a few brave souls try their luck in the arena, avoiding 2 tons of ticked-off Brahman bull or, like Brown, holding on to the back of a bucking bronco.

"It's better than Christmas for these guys," says Cain, who throws a banquet for the participants a few weeks after the rodeo, passing out belt buckles and other prizes to the winners. "It's not something that benefits the victims of their crimes, but our goal is for there not to be another victim if they get out. By participating in the rodeo and making their hobbycraft, the men learn to take responsibility for their actions. "

Inmates choose to participate for a variety of reasons. For Corey Page, a New Orleans native serving a sentence of 881 years for armed robbery and kidnapping, it was a combination of the prize money (contest winners earn $100 per event and $500 for the grand finale) and his thrill-seeking nature.

"The first time I got on the back of a bull, it felt like I was sitting on an 18-wheeler with hydraulics," says Page, whose personal best added up to $1,600 in winnings a few years back. "It makes me feel good not to have to ask my family for money."

Victor Durden, on the other hand, likes the challenge. "It's very competitive," says Durden, an LA native serving a 49-year sentence for bank robbery who, in 2005, rode on a dare. "It's an adrenaline rush. We do a lot of bad-mouthing, but really, we all want to see each other do good."

New Orleans writer/producer Sam Malvaney was definitely impressed with the men's camaraderie and competitiveness. "It was so much more than I expected," he says. "The atmosphere was like a county fair. I got the impression that this was something the guys look forward to all year."

WHEN IT'S TIME FOR THE SHOW, THE INMATES FORM A circle and pray together, then sing a rousing version of the national anthem. A professional rodeo company provides a few acts, which include Whiplash, a crowd-pleasing capuchin monkey who rides around on the back of a border collie while wearing full cowboy regalia.

The inmates - guys like Edward "E.T." Trotter, riding since 2003 - get their moment in the spotlight during hair-raising games of Convict Poker, the ultimate poker game, during which a wild bull is released to unseat a quartet of card players. The last man remaining seated is the winner. "For those few hours, I'm free," says Trotter, who is serving a life sentence for drug possession. "It's like I'm human again. People see us like people, not like animals."

Then there's Bust Out, where six chutes release six angry bulls at once, ridden (albeit briefly) by inmates. The last man to remain on the bull wins. The finale, Guts & Glory, has inmates trying to snatch a poker chip from between the horns of a furious bull.

Watching and interacting with the inmates is emotional for visitors, as well. "You get the feeling you're looking at people with nothing to lose," Levy says.

Attending his third Angola rodeo, uptown New Orleans physician Keith Capone found himself thinking about the prisoners' individual stories. "Interacting with the prisoners made me think about their humanity."

While most of the inmates may never truly be free, they'll always have the rodeo. And for many - like Giovanni Brown - the feeling that comes from hanging onto a horse for dear life is enough.

FOR TICKETS AND INFO ON THE RODEO, VISIT www.ANGOLARODEO.COM.