The Untold Story of Black Cowboys

When I first get on the phone with Harold Cash, a Black cowboy and 2010 Hall of Fame Inductee, I'm transported in time by the rich texture of his voice. That twang, that gravelly drawl—his voice sounds like how digging your hands into soil feels. It sounds like the smell of your grandpa’s leather jacket—hints of tobacco and toothpick. It sounds like how it feels to see the Rocky Mountains for the first time or the way a full moon hangs low over the Sonoran Desert; it’s quiet and wide. I feel grounded. Safe. And completely captivated.

Cash starts our conversation by asking if I know the term “cowboy” is rooted in Black history. I know this, but I pretend I don’t because I want to hear him explain it. “White men were called ‘cowhands’ or ‘cattlemen,’ but Black men were called ‘cowboys’—and that name stuck,” Cash says. It was a pejorative for Black ranch hands because Blacks, no matter their age, were always called "boys." Historians estimate that one in four working cowboys in the 19th century were Black. “We were there, working the same land, breaking the same horses, herding the same cattle, but history books don’t mention us,” Cash says. When I ask him what he wants people to know from this story, he replies succinctly, “That the Black cowboy is the forgotten man of the West.”

Growing up in Texas City, Texas, Cash’s early ideas of cowboys were shaped by television. “I thought cowboys were just White,” he recalls. But while visiting his grandfather’s ranch one summer, he overheard a conversation between two White men about how a Black man would never win a world championship in rodeo. “Well, they didn’t say ‘Black man’, they used the ‘N’ word, but I took that word out of my vocabulary long ago,” Cash says. “I asked my grandfather if there were actually Black cowboys, and he said, ‘Of course there are.’” Cash and his grandfather went to a predominantly Black ranch that weekend. “They asked me if I wanted to ride a horse. Before I knew it, I was flying off, but when I got back up, I knew I wanted to be a cowboy.”

His first rodeo experience was just as humbling. “I got on a horse called Brown Bomb, and after three jumps, I hit the ground so fast that I had a cigarette burned into the back of my neck.” He spent a year riding every chance he got, learning techniques from seasoned riders. One of his greatest mentors was Willie Thomas Sr., known as ‘The Jackie Robinson of Rodeo’ and the very cowboy he had heard the White men talking about as a child. “Willie told me, ‘You ride pretty good, but you don’t have the technique yet. I’m going to show you what I know.’” Under Thomas’ guidance, Cash eventually competed professionally across the country.

Rodeo, like many sports, was not always welcoming to Black competitors. “It wasn’t impossible for a Black man to win, but it was rare,” Cash says. “You had to be better than good. You had to be the best.” Black cowboys had to adapt to unfair conditions in rodeo competitions, particularly bull riding, because it relied heavily on the honor system. “The judges were White, and they wouldn’t start counting the moment we left the chute,” he said. “So we had to learn to stay on longer—because if you rode for eight seconds, they might only give you credit for six.” This unspoken rule meant they had to prove their skill beyond question to get a fair score. “We knew the game was rigged, so we played it better.”

One of the most famous Black cowboys was Bill Pickett, who invented the popular rodeo event known as bulldogging or steer wrestling. “I imagine Pickett was working cattle one day, and a steer broke loose,” Cash laughs, trying to imagine how and why one would ever bite a horse. “He jumped off his horse, bit the steer on the nose, and wrestled it to the ground. That’s how bulldogging started.” He credits Pickett and pioneers like his mentor, Willie Thomas Sr., for why we even get to tell this story. “Willie taught me everything, but he never got his flowers while alive.” Despite being one of the best, Thomas wasn’t inducted into the Hall of Fame until after his death. It wasn’t until Jim Shoulders, a sixteen-time world champion and White cowboy, along with other White cowboys, wrote letters to the board advocating for his induction, but by then, it was too late—Thomas had passed. “He should’ve been in there long before,” Cash says. “But like many Black cowboys, he was forgotten until they couldn’t deny him anymore.”

In 2008, Cash was first approached by the Hall of Fame for induction. However, he declined the offer, "I told them I wasn’t going in unless Willie went in with me.” But the Hall denied his request. They offered induction to Cash again in 2009—this time, he turned it down because he felt Black calf roper Calvin Greely, one of the first African-Americans to compete at the national level in the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA), should be inducted first. Finally, in 2010, they offered a third time, and Cash accepted on the basis of being in a better position to help others. And he has. "People think I'm on the board because I get called [for references] so often—I'm not. But I am in a position to finally help."

Charlie Sampson didn’t wait for anyone to claim his legacy. From Watts, California, Sampson is a 5’4” (energetically, 7’4”) Black cowboy who became the first Black man to win a world championship in professional rodeo in 1982. His love for horses started unexpectedly: “On a Cub Scout field trip in 1968… we ended up at this broken-down carnival tent,” he told me. “Inside were monkeys, bears, snakes—and outside, a pony ring. I rode the ponies around and eventually got a job cleaning the stalls.” He began working at other stables nearby, where he met the horsemen who would teach him the western way. “They never told me the history of Black cowboys,” he said. “It was just the norm that we all hung out together. I learned how to groom, catch, feed, clean—everything. I just fell in love with those responsibilities.”

Later, as he started traveling outside California, he began piecing together the bigger story. “When I went to Texas, then I got to learn the history about a lot of the Black cowboys,” he said. “Like ranching families, cattle barons. Stuff I never heard growing up.”

“That was a moment for all of us,” Cash says proudly when referencing Sampson’s historic win. Knowing Sampson now, it’s no surprise he was the first Black man to win a world championship—he’s relentless in spirit. I learned that firsthand when we finally met in person, after he invited himself to a yard sale I was throwing in Los Feliz. I heard him before I saw him. “Hey now!” I whipped around, and there he was in rainswept blue: a chambray work shirt, denim jeans, his championship gold buckle, cowboy boots, and a white cowboy hat. This is the man who once told his father, after he’d already moved Sampson’s brothers to Washington, that he was staying behind. “I was already committed to the horses,” he said. “He came back to get the other three boys, and I told him I wanted to stay with my mom—and with the horses. And that’s what I did.” He stayed long enough to make history.

“You ever heard of the Lone Ranger?” Cash asks me during our phone call. I don’t pretend to be clueless this time and say, “You mean Bass Reeves—the enslaved Black man who was the real Lone Ranger?” Cash is impressed. “Look at that! You're up on rodeo!” I feel like an annoying teacher’s pet who got her gold star. What I didn’t know, though, was that Reeves was not a freed slave; he was a runaway slave. Cash sets the record straight for me, “Bass was playing poker with the boss man, and he knew he had him beat, but the boss man still took his money—and Bass laid him out,” We both laugh as if on cue.

Cash continues, painting a scene of Reeves fleeing to Native American territory, where he ultimately stayed and married a Native American woman. He learned their languages and survival skills and became a marshal. “They say he arrested over 3,000 criminals and brought them all in alive.” However, I learned that there were 14 that he killed out of self-defense. It’s believed Reeves was the inspiration for the fictional Lone Ranger we know from TV, except they made him into a White man. “They took his story and gave it to someone else,” Cash says. While Reeve's story may have been co-opted, the pioneers who came after him won't. “In the beginning, they didn’t even want us in the sport,” Sampson reflects. “Now, they can’t write its history without us.” Since his world win, many Black cowboys have followed suit—know their names: Fred Whitfield, an eight-time world champion; Shad Mayfield, a two-time world champion; Cory Solomon, a ten-time Wrangler National Finals Rodeo qualifier.

Today, Cash remains an ambassador for Black cowboy culture, a role he takes with utmost seriousness. “I wouldn’t have been a cowboy if it wasn’t for that day in my grandfather’s wagon, hearing those men talk,” he reflects. Through his experiences, Cash keeps the legacy of Black cowboys alive, ensuring that future generations know their history and understand the contributions of the cowboys who rode before them. “We’ve always been here,” he says. “And we always will be.” The inaugural Charlie Sampson Rodeo will be held this year on June 28, 2025, in Norco, California, celebrating the legacy of the legendary rodeo champion and honoring the very contributions Sampson spent decades fighting for.

By the end of my conversation with both of these icons, I’m struck by the power their stories hold. Cash and Sampson haven’t just broken barriers, but have dedicated their lives protecting the legacy of those who rode before them and creating a future for those to come after them. The details they carry, the names they refuse to let be forgotten, remind me that this isn’t just oral history—it’s our ancestral record. This is American history. And American history is Black enough to hang the moon.