My brother didn’t even have clothes on, just his underwear.
In 1950, the superintendent was overpowered and thrown in the river by a group of boys who staged an effective revolt, and for a brief moment they were running things to suit themselves.
Eventually he was gifted land in Tascosa, a ghost town, by a local rancher, so he could set up a more permanent home for the boys.īut for all their organizational success, Farley and his staff had no special training to deal with wayward children. Throughout the 1930s, he ran a sporting club, The Mavericks, which tried to channel the energies of troubled and abandoned boys in the panhandle. He had been a prominent college athlete before he moved to Amarillo, where he gained prominence as the owner of a tire shop.
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The ranch’s founder, Cal Farley, was a professional wrestler and Amarillo businessman. The ranch also owns parcels of land as far away as California. About $43m of that came from contributions and grants. Cheques like the one that funded Waldrip House are not unusual: the most recent publicly available tax filings show an annual income for the ranch just north of $56.8m. With 100 direct employees and 526 across its subsidiaries, it is no small fish, and notable individuals from the ranching and oil industries queue up to serve on its board. There is no suggestion that there is abuse at Cal Farley’s now – indeed, there is broad acknowledgment, even from advocates for the men, that current practices at the ranch are in line with the best in the sector. Almost since its foundation, the “Christ-centered” but nondenominational institution has been a byword in Texas for juvenile reform and a can-do spirit. Photograph: Jason Wilson for the GuardianĬal Farley’s Boys Ranch is accustomed to the generosity of well-heeled donors, but is less used to having its reputation called into question. A very wealthy ranch – and a revoltĪ postcard of Cal Farley’s ranch that Steve Smith has kept. The ranch’s current CEO, Dan Adams, acknowledged the weight of the accusations against Waldrip, who died in 2013, but he said that other boys had had “very different experiences” with him and “admired and liked” him.įor the survivors who want to make the ranch accountable for the abuse – and have been encouraged to break their silence after Steve Smith brought them together in a Facebook group – this is an unbearable affront. Last month, at the behest of a wealthy donor who wrote a cheque for $1m to build a new dormitory, the ranch named the new building Waldrip House. They say Lamont Waldrip, a long-serving superintendent, was one of the worst abusers.
They say the abuse went beyond them, and was systemic, affecting hundreds of others who went through the ranch. Rick, Steve, and six other men the Guardian spoke to named staff members responsible for the abuse, which lasted from the 1950s until at least the early 1990s. The other is when he talks about what happened to his younger brother Rick, and how powerless he was to help him. The first time is when he describes how a succession of dogs he owned, all called Boots, were killed by staff members. He’s a tough man – he served in the Vietnam war and was wounded in the line of duty – and his piercing blue eyes only sprout tears twice. The ordeal has permanently damaged their lives.Īt the kitchen table in his immaculate home in the Amarillo suburbs, Steve, now almost 70, goes through all of the details of what happened to him without showing much pain. Some boys, including Rick Smith, were also sexually abused while under the care of the ranch. Along with the physical punishment, Steve’s pets were killed, and his friends were worked to the bone in atrocious conditions.