“The Cowboys' Christmas Ball”/Anson Pioneer Hall (1885)

Every December since 1885, Anson,Texas swells for a threeday ‘sworray’ more commonly called “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.” It was originally held in the Morning Star Hotel by the founder of the event, Lenora Barrett and ran annually until a city ordinance ordered ’no dancing in Anson,’ in 1933. Mostly, the City Council had members of the Church of Christ, who did not allow dancing and they voted for this ordinance to prevent any dancing in Anson. This prevailed until 1940 when a group of Ansonites united to get the ordinance amended, altered and repealed which would allow dancing to continue at the annual ’sworray’ at the newly built Pioneer Hall.

The Ballad was written by William Lawrence ‘Larry’ Chittenden, who was a traveling salesman and poet from New York, who later became a rancher north of Anson. He wrote the words to this ballad after attending in 1890. Later, it was put to music and made popular by Michael Martin Murphy, who attended the event in 1993 and several years after that first experience.

There were few rules: men could not wear cowboy hats or spurs on the dance floor and hung their guns outside on their saddle horns. Women must wear skirts and no split skirts, such as used to ride horses. Many couples wore period dress when attending the “Texas Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.” There was a caller, who would ‘callout’ the moves for a square dance, but there were other dances introduced there such as the Schottische, the two-step and other standards like the waltz, Virginia Reel, Paul Jones and polka and ‘put your little foot.’

Here are the words to that famous ballad:

“The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball”

‘Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Fork’s waters flow,

Where the cattle are “a brown,’ an’ the Spanish ponies grow;

Where the northers “come a-whistlin’ “ from beyond the Neutral Strip;

And the prairie dogs are sneezing,’ as if they had “The Grip;”

Where the coyotes come a-howlin’ ‘round the ranches after dark,

And the mocking-birds are singing’ to the lovely “madder lark;”

Where the possum and the badger, and rattlesnakes abound,

And the monstrous stars are winkin’ o’er a wilderness profound;

Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy streams,

While the Double Mountains slumber, in heavenly kinds of dreams;

Where the antelope is grazin’ and the lonely plovers call—

It was there that I attended “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.”

The Town was Anson City, old Jones’s county seat,

Where they raised Polled Anges cattle, and waving whiskered wheat;

Where the air is soft and “bammy,” an’ dry an’ full of health,

And the prairies is exploding’ with agricultural wealth;

Where they print the ‘Texas Western,’ that Hec. McCann supplies

With news and yarns and stories, uv most amazing’ size;

Where Frank Smith “pulls the badger,” on knowin’ tenderfeet,

And Democracy’s triumphant, and might hard to beat;

Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap, from Lamar,

Who “used to be the Sheriff, back East, in Paris say!”

“T’ was there, I say, at Anson with the lovely “widder Wall,”

That I went to that reception, “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.”

The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;

The ladies— “kinder scatterin’—had gathered for miles.

And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well,

“T’was got for the occasion, at “The Morning Star Hotel.”

The music was a fiddle an’ a lively tamborine,

And a “viol came imported,” by the stage from Abilene.

The room was togged out gorgeous-with mistletoe and shawls,

And candles flickered frescoes, around the airy walls.

The “wimmin’ folks” looked lovely—the boys looked kinder treed,

Til their leader commenced yelling:’ “Whoa fellers, let’s stampede,”

And the music started sighin,’ an’ awailin’ through the hall

As a kind of introduction to “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.”

The leader was a feller that came from the Swenson’s Ranch,

They called him “Windy Billy,” from the “little Deadman’s Branch.”

His rig was “kinder keelless,” big spurs and high-heeled boots;

He had the reputation that comes when “fellers shoots.”

His voice was like a bugle upon the mountain’s height;

His feet were animated an’ a mighty, movin’ sight,

When he commenced to holler, “Now, fellers stake your pen!”

“Lock horns tee all them heifers, an’ tussle ‘em like men.

“Saloot yer lovely critters; new swing an’ let ‘em go,

“Climb the grape vine ‘round ‘em-all hands doce-do!

“You Mavericks, kine the round-up-Jest skip her waterfall,”

Huh! hit wiz gittin’ happy, “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball!”

The boys were tolerable skittish, the ladies powerful neat,

That old bass viol’s music just got there with both feet!

That wailin,’ frisky fiddle, I never shall forget;

And Windy kept a-singin’— I think I hear him yet—

“Oh Yes, chase yer squirrels, an’ cut ‘em to one side;”

“Spur Treadwell to the centre, with Cross P Charley’s bride;”

“Doc. Hollis down the middle, an’ twine the ladies’ chain;”

“Varn Andrews pen the fillies in big T Diamond’s train.”

“All pull yer freight together, now swallow fork an’ change;”

“Big Boston, ‘lead the trail herd, through little Pitchfork’s range.”

“Purr ‘round yer gentle pussies, now rope ‘em! Balance all!”

“Huh! hit wiz gettin’ active— “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball!”

The dust rig fast an’ furious; we all yes’ galloped ‘round,

Till scenery got so giddy that T Bar Dick was downed.

We buckled to our partners, an’ told ‘em to hold on,

Then shook our hoofs like lighting until the early dawn.

Don’t tell me ‘bout cotillons, or german. No sire ‘ee!

That whirl at Anson City just takes the cake with me.

I’m sick of lazy shuffln’s, of them I’ve had my fill,

Give me a frontier break-down, backed up by Windy Bill.

McAllister ain’t nowhar’: when Windy leads the show,

I’ve seen ‘em both in harness, and so I sorter know—

Oh Bill, I shan’t forget yer, and I’ll often times recall,

That lively gaited sworray—“The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball.”