Taylor Sheridan Is Living His Dream

When the sun peaks in the sky, right around 1 p.m., the landscape at the Four Sixes Ranch appears blanketed in a thin layer of dust. It’s as if an old-timey Instagram filter draped itself over the entire scene of knee-high grass, head-high bushes, and slight undulations that beg to be considered hills. One glance at the wide-open spaces, and you’re transported to a Sergio Leone film or a Cormac McCarthy novel. The land, variously described as anything between 245,000 and 350,000 acres, is home to calves, horses, armadillos, horned lizards, and about 100,000 of the biggest damn flies you’ve ever seen. And it’s isolated. Boy, is it isolated. On a Sunday — when the town of Guthrie’s only convenience store takes a day of rest — you’d have to drive 30 minutes (one way while going fast) to grab a Coke and a gas station sandwich. To cowherds, cowhands and, well, cows, this is God’s country. To those expecting room service — and not expecting cows — this is hell on earth. It’s rugged, it’s real, it’s inspiring, and it’s undeniably liberating. It’s the kind of place Larry McMurtry wrote about, Charles Marion Russell painted about, and John Ford made films about. And it’s everything the property’s new owner, Taylor Sheridan, ever wanted.

Later that afternoon, I’m sitting high on a top rail — giving my feet a rest from a new pair of cowboy boots that are rubbing my pinky toe a little too harshly — watching a man in aviators, chaps, and a brown cowboy hat expertly working young steers in a dirt-filled arena.

“Cutting is like hockey,” Sheridan, the man in the aviators, had told me earlier. “Reining is like skating.”

He wears a brown cowboy hat because, as he says, only villains wear black cowboy hats. Good guys wear brown hats, and this man is a good guy.

Surrounded by thick clouds of dust and wearing a crimson button-up — looking cinematic as hell — Sheridan maneuvers his horse to push a single steer out of the herd. Once the young steer is free, Sheridan’s favorite quarter horse — a big brown, ornery stallion named Carl — keeps it from returning to the herd.

While my novice understanding of horsemanship means I know very little of what’s going on in that arena, I do know one thing: This guy is damn good on a horse.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do,” Sheridan told me.

When he was done, there were no audible “woos” or hand claps from onlookers, who also happen to be his employees. Sure, he literally owns everything as far as the eye can see, yet only a few nods were even remotely noticeable. Sheridan doesn’t even crack a smile. It felt like business as usual because, well, it was.

If you’ve lived in Fort Worth for even a hot minute, you should recognize that name, Taylor Sheridan. And, if your Fort Worth credentials remain unscathed, you not only recognize that name, but you know a heck of a lot about it. After all, you’ve likely seen this name whenever you watch the credits roll on “Yellowstone”— the name appears several times, in fact. The popular Western drama follows the resilient and hardened John Dutton, a patriarch who owns the largest cattle ranch in the U.S. Sheridan is “Yellowstone’s” writer, creator, part-time director, and sometime actor — the profession that first introduced him to Hollywood. He’s had a hand in writing every episode and directed the entire first season. He went on to create the critically acclaimed prequel, “1883,” and directed that show’s first episode, which took place in Fort Worth. Yeah, he’s the reason the Stockyards were shut down for a week and hundreds of Fort Worthians dressed in 19th-century garb so they could get their mug on the small screen for a split second. 

Sheridan’s also written a handful of acclaimed films — “Sicario,” “Hell or High Water,” “Wind River,” and “Those Who Wish Me Dead” — and been nominated for an Academy Award to boot. He’s worked with Kevin Costner, Tom Hanks, Jeff Bridges, Angelina Jolie, Chris Pine, Sam Elliott, Jeremy Renner, and Tim McGraw, just to drop a few of the high-profile names who have performed his scripts. All in all, Sheridan has three shows currently running, two shows currently filming, and four shows under development, including an “1883” spinoff about law enforcement officer Bass Reeves that is to be filmed in Fort Worth. In all honesty, it’s impossible to give his credentials — past, present, and forthcoming — the justice they deserve when one has a limited word count.

Besides, Sheridan doesn’t want to talk about all of that stuff. He’s already talked about it; it’s all been covered by the likes of Variety and Deadline. What he wants to talk about is his passion: his ranch.

Sheridan can talk ranching with the best of them. Normally quiet and direct — offering efficient five- or six-word responses to most things — ranching is the one topic where Sheridan becomes loquacious, waxing poetic about Fort Worth’s deep ranching legacy. 

“I would pinch myself if I wasn’t keenly aware of the tremendous amount of responsibility that I just took on. It’s 150 years of legacy building at Four Sixes.”

I ask if, despite all of his successes as a writer and director, if this is his dream. If he wants to etch his name alongside the likes of the Moncriefs and Burnetts as a North Texas rancher.

“You know, it is. Yeah,” he stutters slightly and pauses for a second as if he’d actually never given the question much thought. “I tell you what, my dream had always been — and I’m not sure it made a whole lot of sense in my brain — to own an old-timey butcher shop in the Stockyards. And I wanted to sell my own beef at the butcher shop.”

All he needs now is a butcher with a well-waxed mustache, and he should be in hog heaven. ’Cause now that he owns the Four Sixes (styled 6666), beef should be aplenty. 

Of course, to those who follow the saga of the Duttons on “Yellowstone,” you’re well aware that Sheridan had been tied to the Four Sixes long before he made headlines in January of this year — confirming he had purchased the famous ranch from the late Anne Marion’s estate. The Four Sixes featured prominently in the fourth season, when show regular Jimmy Hurdstrom (portrayed by Jefferson White) went on a sabbatical to the giant ranch in Guthrie, where he learned how to become a real cowboy.

After the success of Season Three, when, as Sheridan puts it, the two coasts finally started paying attention to the Kevin Costner-helmed show, Sheridan saw an opportunity to portray real ranching on the small screen.

“You see, Yellowstone’s not real. It’s not a real ranch. It’s very high reality. You know? Most ranchers aren’t running around dumping bodies in no-man’s land and train stations. I mean, the most famous ranch in America is not real. And I felt like, when the show’s over, then what? Was it just a fad? Just an Urban Cowboy-type thing? I wanted to tell a story of an actual working ranch and not dramatize it.”

The first ranch that came to mind was the Four Sixes.

“When you think of the best cowboys and horses, you think of the Four Sixes.”

His inquiries led him to a conversation with ranch manager Joe Leathers. Yes, the manager of the Four Sixes is named Joe Leathers, and the ranch is also home to a 90-year-old cowboy named Boots O’Neal. These guys, who live and breathe ranch life, were born with tobacco in their mouths and dirt under their fingernails. And they’re particularly protective of their heritage; they aren’t fans of imitators or pretenses. They don’t carry gun belts lined with copper-tipped bullets. Their version of a gunfight is caring for a sick steer. Messing up a depiction of ranching would be akin to spitting in their faces. So, it wasn’t any surprise when Leathers didn’t buy what Taylor was selling.

“Oh, does he lay into me. He was like, ‘You Hollywood SOB. The last thing we need is you coming out here and telling all these b.s. stories about cowboys and ranching.’ And I’m, like, ‘Whoa, Joe, I’m on your side. I’m from here. I’m trying to tell this story because they get it wrong.’”

Sheridan implores them to watch “Yellowstone” so they can see that he’s on their side. Leathers admits to not watching much TV. “I’m not a fan of that Hollywood stuff.” But it only took a few episodes for him to become convinced.

Sheridan eventually got the sign-off from owner Anne Marion — Miss Marion, as Sheridan calls her — who told him to “go have fun” and “make us look good.”

Peeking out from one of the aforementioned undulations, Sheridan is walking just ahead of Carl. In that moment, I ask him why Carl is his favorite horse. 

“’Cause I can trust him, and he can do the job.”

He’s walked the same path a couple times already so our photographer, Crystal, can get the money shot. The cover shot. Throughout the day, we’ve been asking him to do stuff: throw hay, ride Carl, cut cattle, and pose in front of a barn. Through a few hours, he’s been exceptionally patient and understanding. While I suspect it makes him uncomfortable, he’s ceded the reins to us. 

He has a few moments where it seems as though he wants to suggest something — which we wholeheartedly encourage — but he stops himself, as if resigned to playing a specific role for the day. Despite our being the visitors, he doesn’t want to step on our toes. The quiet confidence he exudes would undoubtedly make him antsy to give direction at even the slightest hint of indecision, but I suspect it’s his manners that keep him from doing so.

Though he is an actor with a razor-sharp jaw and searing blue eyes — and, yeah, he looks pretty darn good in front of a camera — he’s also a Texas boy. And he’s also a Fort Worth boy. 

There’s a lot of mythology around Sheridan — where he’s from, where he was born, etc. His Wikipedia page and even some articles claim he was born and raised in Cranfills Gap, a small city in Bosque County, an hour west of Waco. This is not entirely accurate. While he spent a lot of time as a child and teenager at his family’s ranch in Bosque County, which is where he began his love affair with riding horses, he was actually born in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. “I mean, that’s just where my mother went into labor. That’s where I decided I was ready to meet the world.”

And concerning the actual day he was born, your guess is as good as ours.

“I’ve got, like, six different birthdays. Is it wrong that my favorite’s the wrong birthday? I mean, what people don’t realize is, when you start posting where people are born and when they’re born and their address, I only need one more thing to take your identity.”

Fair enough. We choose not to press for more information on the subject.

While Sheridan spent summers and weekends riding horses at Cranfills Gap, a place he looks back on with great fondness, he went to school in Fort Worth, graduating from Paschal High School. If you’re having trouble remembering him, that’s because in those days, he was known as Taylor Gibler — we admit the decision to change his name to Sheridan was a smart one.

While hailing from a place called Cowtown is not the metropolitan upbringing that would elicit cries of sham, it’s not a stretch to call Fort Worth, and not Cranfills Gap, his hometown. 

The rest of his story’s been told ad nauseam. He went to Southwest Texas State University, despite his only real ambition being to become the sheriff of Cranfills Gap; his parents split up; his mother sold the ranch in Cranfills Gap after moving to Wyoming; he dropped out of school; he mowed lawns and painted houses for a spell in Austin; then got spotted by a talent scout and pursued acting. When that gig didn’t pan out — and it turned out Los Angeles wasn’t his cup of tea — he turned to writing. He pivots. He’s a survivor. But, the thing is, despite all of those experiences that ultimately had a profound impact on his life, he always just wanted to return to that ranch in Cranfills Gap.

“I’m not an explorer. I have no interest in going to Europe. Not that it wouldn’t be fascinating. Only time I’ve been is when I had to for work. When it gets real hot here, I want to go up to my ranch in Wyoming and put my feet up where it’s 70 degrees. And as soon as the thermostat dips below 40, I’m headed south.”

There’s a pragmatism to everything he does. Sheridan writes, directs, creates, and makes his mark on the world so he can hang out with his wife and two kids and ride horses in peace.

It’s telling that he chose to return to North Texas, settling at the horse-friendly Silverado development in Weatherford

“That’s his life,” Eric Nelsen, a fellow Fort Worthian who starred in Sheridan’s “1883,” says. “His ranch lifestyle, his horses, and his family come first over anything else.

“Taylor’s Texas born and raised; his blood runs thick with Texas cowboy pride and culture.”

There’s no voyeurism or inauthenticity to his writing; he’s truly living it.

“He’s writing about his world, his life, his experiences. He’s pulling from his reality,” Nelsen continues. “He’s gotta be about the only showrunner in Hollywood who’s a real-deal cowboy.”

At one point during our photoshoot, we ask Sheridan to toss a few bales of hay into a truck bed. I ask Leathers, who’s standing nearby, if this is something he would normally do. Leathers shrugs and responds, “If he needs hay.”

On a particularly cold and rainy February day in 2020, Sheridan was driving to the Four Sixes Ranch to continue filming Jimmy’s story arc in “Yellowstone” when he received a phone call that Marion had died. Marion had left instructions in her will to sell the Four Sixes.

On that day, Sheridan was sick to his stomach for two reasons. First, he’d lost someone whom he admired and respected. Second, he feared this would be the end of the Four Sixes Ranch. Sheridan realized that, by the time Season Four of “Yellowstone” airs, the ranch will no longer exist. The mammoth-sized ranch will, if you’ll pardon the cliché, be gutted and sold for parts.

“No one seems to have a goal of maintaining a ranch’s legacy,” Sheridan says. “Instead, they look under the hood and see just how much it costs and how much effort it takes.”

To keep the Four Sixes legacy intact, the owner would have to get his or her hands dirty. 

The ranch, commonly considered the biggest and most famous in North Texas — and likely second most famous in Texas, thanks to a brilliant marketing partnership between Ford Trucks and the King Ranch — was first purchased in 1900 by Samuel Burk Burnett, one of the area’s most famous and profitable cattlemen. 

The tale that Burnett conceived of the Four Sixes’ name thanks to winning the ranch in a poker game has long been debunked. Actually, Burnett bought a herd of cattle branded with the Four Sixes when he was just 19, and he purchased the brand along with the herd. The origin of the brand is anyone’s guess.

Upon his death in 1922, Burnett left the ranch to his granddaughter, and Marion’s mother, Anne Valliant Burnett Tandy. While the ranch continued to thrive — breeding world-class quarter horses, raising cattle, and serving as a backdrop for Marlboro commercials — Tandy spent the majority of her time at the Triangle Ranch just outside of Wichita Falls.  

“My great-grandfather really left the Four Sixes to me before I was even born,” Marion told the Star-Telegram in a 1993 interview of the trusteeship set up by Burk Burnett that left the ranch to Anne Tandy’s unborn child. 

It was the Four Sixes where Marion first developed an interest in horses. She would routinely visit the ranch during her summers and “rode from daylight till dark with the cowboys at the ranch. I did what they did.”

One can easily spot the parallels between this story and Taylor’s. As Cranfills Gap is to Taylor Sheridan, the Four Sixes is to Anne Marion. Both are also known for being reserved — far more comfortable on the back of a horse than in front of a crowd; the two have an undeniable kinship. 

 Marion would take over the ranch full time after the death of her mother in 1980. In addition to her tireless work as one of Fort Worth’s most prominent philanthropists, Marion also became highly involved in the ranch’s operation. She visited often and would routinely hold board meetings in a pickup truck, overlooking the herd.

Soon after Marion’s death, Sheridan is informed that her estate is looking for a buyer who would keep the ranch in one piece and maintain her vision, and they think he’s the guy. A slight obstacle came in the form of the $350 million price tag.

“I said, well, I’m about $330 million short.”

Such a giant fly in the ointment wouldn’t just deter most, it would crush dreams with the force of a stomping Clydesdale. But Sheridan was stubborn. He couldn’t stand the idea of a piecemeal selling off of the land or an owner who would buck with tradition and use the ranch as a vanity project.

While he was scraping together the funds, he quickly wrapped up the six scripts he still owed Paramount so he could focus on purchasing and, ultimately, running the ranch. His plan was to say sayonara to the studio.

But Paramount wasn’t about to lose one of their most profitable creatives. Especially not after successfully piquing the interest of the coasts. But Sheridan was firm in his requests — the deal would have to be massive for him to stay on board. 

Well, it was. Nearly two years after Marion’s death, Sheridan’s big new deal with Paramount coupled with other investors and negotiations with the bank made him the owner of the Four Sixes Ranch. The issue: This thwarted his desire to retire at the age of 50. He will have to divide his time between ranching and writing for the foreseeable future.

“So, I had to sit down with my wife and go, ‘Look, I know we had this plan of [retiring early], but this is gonna change everything. I’m going to have to stay in the movie business for another five or six years. We never retire from this. We don’t get that luxury.”

Already having ranches in Weatherford and Wyoming, logic can easily call out the purchase as an unnecessary buy. But the way Sheridan speaks about it, it’s as if he rescued an endangered species from extinction. And, in some ways, maybe he is. 

“It’s a love affair with the land of West Texas,” Sheridan says. “There’s a tremendous amount of discipline that it takes to build a ranch like this. It takes strength, excellence, integrity, and faith, and that’s the main mission statement of the ranch. We’re going to live up to that.”

Joe Leathers holds a Styrofoam coffee cup in each hand — one for coffee and the other for his chewing tobacco. He places both cups in his Dodge Ram’s cupholders and proceeds to drive us around the ranch. He’s tall, slim, and very measured in his delivery. His face appears permanently fixed in a position of examination and concern, likely the result of a job never fully being done on a ranch. 

He’s lived in the big house at Four Sixes for 14 years, and it’s easy to see how he’s the boss around here.

Leathers doesn’t hesitate a moment to tell me what he thinks of Sheridan since he bought the ranch.

“We see eye to eye on a lot. He’s making a lot of changes, and I like them.”

Sheridan’s not resting on his laurels; he’s not sticking to the status quo. As mentioned before, this is no vanity project. He didn’t just devote millions of dollars to a weekend getaway for his family. He sees the Four Sixes as an investment, an opportunity. 

While the Four Sixes is already a recognizable brand, Sheridan wants to expand it. He already has plans for selling direct-to-consumer beef from their livestock. 

“I’m a big believer that the future of beef is direct-to-consumer,” Sheridan says. “You need to have a superior product, and you need to have a platform so people know where it is. And I have both.”

Sheridan begins speaking like a businessman, like an entrepreneur. The creative genius that wrote an Academy Award-nominated screenplay is switching gears and is now being applied to ranching.

“As a storyteller, what you’re trying to do is catch your imagination and inspire thought, right? So, the same thing here. I want to utilize the brand and what it means to me — and likely to you — which is excellence in its fields of endeavor, and come up with products that people can enjoy.” 

Other future ventures include a partnership with Grit and Glory Brewery for a Four Sixes beer, a TV show based around the ranch that will no doubt serve as a phenomenal marketing tool, and perhaps even a Four Sixes truck line — a working ranch truck, something in stark contrast to the King Ranch Ford.

On the movie and show-making front, Sheridan continues to put the spotlight on Fort Worth — bringing famous actors and actresses into town to film his projects. And the city, for its part, is trying to return the favor. This year, the Lone Star Film Festival will be awarding Sheridan its annual Larry McMurtry Award. An apt award, especially considering the influence the award’s namesake, McMurtry, has had on Sheridan.

“I had read Lonesome Dove probably five times before I saw the miniseries,” Sheridan says. “But I remember being home before I went off to college and watching it and thinking, ‘I want to make that.’ I didn’t know what form at the time; I just knew I wanted to make that.”

There’s little doubt he’ll keep churning out brilliant scripts, making good with on his deal with Paramount. And Fort Worth is lucky enough to be a big beneficiary.

“I was such a terrible teenager; maybe I feel a sense of duty to give back a little,” Sheridan jokes. “I’m going to try to film everything in Fort Worth for two reasons: I think it’s great for the city, and I’m pretty lazy. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

It’s toward the end of our interview, and I catch him in a moment of self-deprecation. If there’s one thing ranchers are not, it’s lazy. But we’ll let it slide.

Truth is, his desires to stay near Fort Worth don’t stem from laziness. His desires are simply the result of this being home. 

It’s just where he wants to be.

“I think a sense of home and a place being such a part of my stories come from a feeling that I didn’t have one for a minute there. Now that I have a home, I never want to leave it.”

My God, isn’t that how it should be?