Johnny Bullwhip. He was the fastest bullwhipper in the territory. He was fast and accurate and amazing. No one could beat Johnny Bullwhip in a bullwhip fight. No one handled a bullwhip like him. And if you weren’t too particular about spelling, he could bullwhip your name right into your face. Unless you had a name like Alexander or Jedediah, which might not fit. But he could make an “Al” or a “Jed” if you really had your heart set on it.
Long ago people stopped challenging him to bullwhip fights. No one stood a chance. Johnny Bullwhip could bullwhip the down out of a baby’s ear without waking the little darling. And did, too (with the mother’s permission).
He wore a bullwhip on each hip, another bullwhip, like a belt, at the small of his back and a little, teeny bullwhip—actually, it was more like shoelaces—on the side of his boots.
If Johnny Bullwhip had worn a number, they would have retired it.
But these days he spends most of his time lecturing about bullwhips and taking care of your bullwhip, bullwhip registration, bullwhip safety goggles, proper cleaning, oiling and winter storage of your bullwhips.
Still, there’s always some kid, some punk, who comes along and has to challenge Johnny Bullwhip to a bullwhip fight. Johnny usually says, “Put your bullwhip away, son. I don’t do that anymore.” But do you think they listen? Of course not. They have to learn the hard way. In a bullwhip fight. Against the fastest, sharpest, nicest, toughest bullwhip cracking guy in all of bullwhipdom. And small leather beltdom as well—if it ever comes to that.
But it never does.
I caught up with Johnny last month, at the Woodward County (OK) Regional Bullwhip and Pontoon Boat Show. Johnny’s getting on in years, as we all are, and there are those who would say he’s losing his touch. “His touch,” no. His bullwhips, sometimes. He’ll forget where he puts them.
…But if you’re thinking of challenging him, I wouldn’t count on it. —BM
Have you ever whipped a bull that didn’t deserve it? That’s a good question. You know, you start out whipping bulls and then you get to a point where you have to ask yourself, do any of them really deserve it? You don’t know. You get the call from your agent and he gives you an address of a farmhouse somewhere in west Texas and you just show up and start in. “Tell it to the whip.” That’s a question everyone who’s ever cracked a bullwhip has to answer for him or her self.
What’s the main difference between bull riding and bull whipping? Another good question...In one you actually get on the bull and try to ride him around. Try to get him to go where you want him to go. Maybe even get the bull to do a little high-step prancing like show horses do. With the other, you just beat him, bam, bam, bam.
Do you, Johnny Bullwhip, make your own clothes or do you find someone who can make them for you and threaten to beat them, whip them thoroughly, if they don’t make you a nice suit of clothes? I’ve tried that. Yes. I think all bull whippers have tried that at one time or another. It doesn’t work. And it’s wrong. You beat someone with a bullwhip and they’re not going to sit down and sew you a nice suit of clothes. They’re shaking. Their judgment is off. No, it doesn’t work. It’s wrong on a lot of levels.
Is it always wrong to bring anger to a bull whipping? I think so. Yes. Some people say, “use that anger.” But I think it’s something you leave outside the barn door. Or what’s that place outside the barn.
The...barnyard? No. Like that. The, ah...thing with the wood...and the gate.
The corral? Yes! …in the corral. Leave the anger in the corral and just pay attention to the whipping. Some people have to keep reminding themselves: It’s business. It’s not personal. It’s not about you, it’s about the bull and the whip. And the lessons you can only hope the bull is learning from the whipping you’re giving him.
Johnny Mango once said, in a rare encounter, that he... Please. Johnny Mango!
He said that he hit you really hard on the back of the neck with a mango, and you were all disoriented and then blacked out before you could get to your bullwhips. Not a word of that is true. He missed me—completely. And it was a papaya. How more wrong can one sentence get?
Well, his name is Johnny Mango. He’s noted for throwing mangos from secret hiding places. No. His name is Something Something Cabrini. Do you know how he operates? He either hides in the bushes, up in a tree or in a ditch by the road and when you’re facing the other direction, he throws a papaya at the back of your neck. And then resumes hiding. He does throw hard but his aim isn’t any good. As to why he does this, hey, your guess is as good as mine. I see nothing heroic in this.
If you ask him, he’ll roll out some line of crap about fighting crime. What he needs is a normal job and someone to teach him the difference between a mango, a papaya and a guava. Different members of the plantae family. Ask him about that.
That brings me to the question: in the family of Johnnys, you and Johnny Guitar are generally regarded as the most senior and respected members. What do you think of this new guy, Johnny Mimosa? Yeah. I think I’ve heard of him. What does he do exactly?
He orders a double mimosa, then throws it in somebody’s face and gets into a fight over it. He wins about half the time. That sounds promising. There’s a place to plant your flag. I think we’re done here. No more questions. I’m not going to comment on Johnnys gone rogue.
Thanks for your time, Mr. Bullwhip. ◊
BRIAN McCONNACHIE was the Founding Editor of The American Bystander.
