|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
HORSING AROUND
Harold “Red Dog” Mansperger
participates in the tractor barrel race at the Antelope Valley Fair’s Rural Olympics in 2007
|
|
|
|
|
Red Dog Leaves legacy of hard work,
tremendous joy in life
|
|
|
|
My first taste of the Valley more than 30 years ago was attending the Rural Olympics at the Antelope Valley Fair. Living in Santa Barbara at the time, I found it was a surreal experience.
I came away from the event more aware of the rural lifestyle and with a lasting memory of one of the competitors: Harold “Red Dog” Mansperger.
Red Dog died Thursday following quadruple bypass surgery performed the day before. He was 76.
Red Dog competed in trucking and tractor events, but so did many other competitors. What caught my attention, besides his colorful nickname, was his all-out effort in the gravel truck and transfer event. So all-out, he almost ran out of his pants.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed: some people in the stands were taking bets on whether his pants would fall completely down his legs during the event or how many times he’d pull them back up before they did.
I drove Monday afternoon to Red Dog’s 5 acre property near Avenue J and 90th Street East and sat down to talk with Leesa, his widow and wife of 37 years.
“Red had no butt whatsoever,” she said. “He told everyone that was because he worked his (butt) off all those years.
“His britches fell down more than once. Belts did no good; they just gave more weight to help it slip down. I finally convinced him to wear suspenders on his pants.
“I put them on his pants, and when he saw them, he said he wasn’t going to wear them,” continued Leesa, “So I said, ‘Well then, your (butt) isn’t going anywhere until you do.’”
Soon thereafter, Red Dog’s suspenders became his trademark. And all bets were off. At least the ones involving pants.
There were still plenty of wagers on his truck-driving and tractor driving skills. He’s a member of the Rural Olympics Hall of Fame for his hard-driving exploits, and his name is synonymous with the Rural Olympics.
“When they were talking about Red at his induction into the Hall of Fame, he said, ‘They’re talking about me as if I’m someone important.’ He just wanted to be known as a hard worker and a good man who would help others if they needed help,” Leesa said.
Leesa also shed some light on how Red Dog got his nickname: “At age 13 he worked in the hay fields. On his payday, he was coming to the ranch he worked with his dog, Sage, walking next to him. Someone said, ‘Here comes Red and his dog,’ and from that came Red Dog.”
Sitting on the front porch of the house, late-afternoon winds pelting parked trucks and tractors with sand and dirt, one truck stands out--a 1968 Kenworth gravel truck that Red Dog bought when it was brand new. “Red Dog Trucking” is painted on its doors.
|
|
|
|
|
“It’s in bad need of a polish job,” Leesa said. “Red kept them all polished and running well. It’s been parked almost 2 years. He fired it up in February, though, but he almost couldn’t get up into the truck. It took him a long time to get into it, but he made it.
“Boy, has it worked this Valley. He even broke in a new engine pulling the grade to Bear Valley.”
Here and there on the property are antique tractors and other farm machinery, much of it rusty and in poor condition. Red Dog was a founding member of The Rusty Relics, the local branch of the Early Day Gas Engine & Tractor Association.
“They’re Red’s kind of yard art,” said Leesa with a smile. “Every once in a while he’d wash ‘em off with a hose and start ‘em up. They meant so much to him.
“They represent love and the heritage of our country. They represent very hard work--hard, clean and honest work. He kept the engines going as long as possible.”
Kind of like Red Dog himself.
Leesa said that Red Dog didn’t like being sick and didn’t like not being active.
“About a month ago, we were sitting on the front porch and he said, ‘I don’t want to be worthless. I want to get up and move.’ He didn’t want to just sit around. That’s why he went for another operation,” she said.
“But he didn’t want me to sign all the forms like I usually did. He said, ‘Babe, I’m signing for this one.’ I think he knew he wasn’t going to make it, and he didn’t want anyone to blame me.”
Leesa said the term “slow down” wasn’t in her husbands vocabulary. Heck, he was Red Dog--if he didn’t get up on only two wheels on the final curve of the Rural Olympics tractor races, he felt he’d disappoint the crowd.
“He had one speed: full-bore,” Leesa said. “And that’s how he lived his life, as well.
“When he traded his truck for a medical scooter, he didn’t slow down. A couple of times I thought he’d flip it. I think he thought it was his racing tractor, or wished it was.”
A few years ago the Rural Olympics’ antique tractor race was replaced for safety reasons by a tractor barrel race, similar to barrel racing for horses. Red Dog, although miffed by the switch, decided to make the best of it and decorated his tractor to look like a horse for the event.
“He was just saying barrel racing was for horses, not tractors,” said Leesa. “The barrel race was too slow for him. He like the thrill of going around that final turn and not knowing whether or not he’d flip his tractor.”
But there he was for the inaugural barrel race wearing his trademark suspenders and a smile, that mischievious smile.
“If he was going to do it, he was going to have fun doing it,” Leesa said.
“That was Red.”
|
|
|
|
|
[High Desert Story] |
|
