Olaf Growald
Members of the Circle L 5 Riding Club pose for a photo after a Saturday practice in Fort Worth.
It’s the kind of January afternoon that reminds you why Texas winters are an acquired taste — crisp but golden, the sun shining just enough to warm the bones. In an unassuming arena on Fort Worth’s east side, history gallops on hooves. It’s Saturday, and the Circle L 5 Riding Club is practicing, their drills precise, their purpose clear. They’re gearing up for the Cowboys of Color Rodeo at the iconic Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo. But this isn’t just about the performance — it’s about legacy.
Back in 1949, long before Circle L 5 became a name whispered with reverence among riding clubs, a group of five Black equestrians dared to dream big. Ed “Pop” Landers, the club’s visionary founder, wanted what segregation denied them — the right to ride in parades and rodeos alongside their white peers. With grit and determination, Landers and his compatriots, John and Scott Farrell, Shirley Sanders, and W.D. Warrick, formed a club. They called it the Silver Saddles at first, a nod to the ornate silverwork on their tack. But as membership grew, so did their ambitions — and their expenses.
One day, Pop took a stick and carved a circle in the dirt. A symbol of unity, evolution, and continuity. Someone suggested adding an “L” for Landers. The five original members nodded. Circle L 5 was born.
By the early 1950s, Circle L 5 was ready to make its mark. They showed up at the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo, their horses adorned in custom tack, their riders clad in starched white shirts and black chaps. But Texas in the 1950s wasn’t ready for them. Segregation kept them on the sidelines, a painful reminder that equality was still a dream deferred.
Olaf Growald
Rather than back down, the club chartered itself and carved its own path. They created their own parades, their own rodeos, and their own traditions. They weren’t asking for a seat at the table — they were building their own.
Fast forward more than 70 years. The Circle L 5 Riding Club is more than a club — it’s an extended family filled with an actual lineage of participants. Today, the group boasts over 80 members and a steadfast commitment to preserving Black cowboy culture. J.R. Hickey, the Club's drill captain, knows the stakes are high.
“At one point, the drill team was almost gone,” he says. “And I’m like, ‘no, I’m not going to let it die.’”
Hickey’s leadership is fueled by passion and a sense of duty. He calls this year a “rebuilding year,” bringing in younger recruits while keeping the veterans engaged. It’s no easy task. The rigors of drill riding — the precision, the discipline, the danger—aren’t for everyone. But Hickey is undeterred.
“If I can leave them with a team, I’ll have fulfilled my role,” he says, referring to his position being put up for a vote by the committee this year.
For members like Hickey, Circle L 5 isn’t just about the drills or the parades. It’s about unity, resilience, and passing on the baton.
“For me, the horses are like my peace,” Hickey says. “When you’re riding, it’s a whole different atmosphere. It’s not just a hobby; it’s a lifestyle.”
The club’s traditions run deep. From their meticulously coordinated uniforms to their participation in events like the Juneteenth Fair Park celebration and the Cowboys of Color Rodeo, every action is a nod to those original five members who started it all. And every younger rider who joins — like 16-year-old Lois Scott — is a promise that the circle will keep turning.
Circle L 5 is part of a larger story — the once-overlooked history of Black cowboys. By some estimates, 25% of cowboys who worked the trails in the 19th century were Black, and their contributions were largely erased from mainstream narratives. Clubs like Circle L 5 don’t just ride to perform; they ride to educate. To remind the world that the cowboy’s story is as diverse as the land it covers.
Olaf Growald
As the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the arena, the riders of Circle L 5 wrap up their practice. The horses snort and paw the ground, their work done for the day. But for the men and women of this historic club, the work is never really done. They ride for the past, for the present, and for the future. They ride to keep the circle unbroken.
And in doing so, they remind us all that some traditions are too important to let fade. On Saturday afternoons, in a little arena on Fort Worth’s east side, history isn’t just remembered. It’s lived.
“I came here in the early ‘80s, and it kept me out of trouble,” Hickey says. “But to see that I can do something and give back to this club and keep it going, that’s the pleasure I get out of it because I don’t ride for myself. I ride for the older ones that started this, the first five members that started this. That’s who I think about all the time.”
