Cowboys, Carrie Underwood and serious money

PARKER — Party-goers emerged from black vans and white shuttles in their cowboy hats and boots, it was the kind of party where people didn’t want to drive afterward. It was 7 p.m. Saturday, windy enough that the flashier men wore velvet jackets with their jeans, although some simply wore an old button-up shirt. The women displayed a similar hybrid of glamor and casual style, with sassy leather bustiers mixed with pretty floral prairie dresses, sequined high-heeled boots mixed with well-worn Justins, all making their way through a large white arch on which Cattle was written. The Baron’s Ball.

Long a highlight of the charity gala social calendar, the Cattle Baron’s Ball began in 1974 as a Western-themed barbecue for 500 people at Toddie Lee Wynne’s Star Brand Ranch, a fundraiser against cancer organized by Wynne’s wife, Jacque, and her friend Patti Hunt. an alternative to boots and beer to black tie. Some of Dallas’ most influential names arrived that year — the Landrys, the Meadows, the Murchisons — and in the ’80s, the show’s stars Dallas showed up to inject a dose of celebrity. Add in headliners like Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Clint Black and Loretta Lynn over the years, and Cattle Baron has achieved legendary status.

Today, more than 3,000 people attend the annual event on the grounds of Southfork Ranch, the former filming location of Dallas now used as an event space. Although some individual tickets are sold (at just $1,250 each), most attendees are guests of many corporate insurers who spend between $10,500 and $150,500 for tables. Big money is flowing through these areas, making Cattle Baron the largest single-night fundraiser for the American Cancer Society in the country.

I was expecting quite a party, but Cattle Baron’s was more like a festival, with the extravagant indulgence of a cruise ship. A casino, a Ferris wheel, cocktails and beer flowing at every turn. I was overwhelmed by the scale as I wandered through the maze of a large room where silent auction items like handbags and clothing were on display, as if a section of the NorthPark mall had been dropped in the center of the room.

The event is typically co-chaired by two women, Marjon Zabihi Henderson and Lora Farris, who work with 100 all-female volunteers, known as Baronesses. This figure seemed absurd to me when I first heard it and reasonable when I saw the scope. All evening I felt like a Type A planner was rushing past me, anticipating my needs. Forget lipstick? There’s a glamor room with makeup artists to fix your pout. Need a cowboy hat? Buy one from the market. Tired of all this? Flop onto a couch in the gym, where a half-dozen men crowded around the SMU-Florida State game.

And then there was the food, from portable Frito pie served in Fritos bags to fried sliders and onion rings to a buffet with smoked filet and butternut squash, kale and mushroom enchiladas.

“There are very few fundraising events (where) you’re not sitting at the table, where you can come and walk around,” said Michelle Thomas, who works in philanthropy for JPMorgan Chase. “And it’s casual,” she said, her stacked bracelets from Dallas-native jeweler Ashley Pittman jingling as she ate wieners.

“Casual chic” said her friend Yvette Williams, who bought her beige cowboy hat at the Dallas Farmers Market.

Dallas has actually never been much into Western clothing, which makes Cattle Baron’s Ball a bit of kitsch and cowboy dressing up. Dallas Mavericks head coach Jason Kidd was dressed in a paneled western shirt, one of the chicest looks, although there were also plenty of come-as-you-are.

“It’s a lot easier to get me to come here when I can wear blue jeans,” said Kevin Kadesky, who was there with his wife Angie.

Shortly after 8 p.m., the crowd began to gather inside for the live auction, where the high rollers sat at long tables on the dance floor while hundreds of us stood there speechless from the perimeter. On stage, a blonde woman in a brown leather dress and a Stevie Nicks-style shawl looked like she had smoked a pack of Camels without a filter. “They call me the auction manager,” Letitia Frye said.

It soon became clear why Frye’s voice was so hoarse. She worked the room like a Baptist preacher, or maybe a WrestleMania announcer, throwing out numbers and bidding on spa packages and excursions to take. “The more you shout, the more they spend!” “” she kept repeating to the spectators, who hooted in response. Baronesses roamed the room, ringing bells to build anticipation.

I had never seen an auction become a spectator sport, and my eyes scanned a sea of ​​cowboy hats waiting for the next person to raise their paddle. The money grew quickly. Eight days at Canyon Ranch, sold for $17,000! An evening for 25 guests at the Perot Museum, sold for $65,000! Dallas superstar chef Dean Fearing (of Fearing’s Restaurant) took the stage with five other chefs to auction off a gourmet group dinner.

“In the last two years we’ve had two dinners at $125,000 each,” he said. “And we want to beat that this year!” Frye began working with the bidders, and the cowbells rang, and the paddles rose, and the tension rose to: Two dinners sold for $200,000, and the crowd roared.

“This is crazy,” said the woman behind me.

An uneasy mix of opulence and brutal reality is at the heart of the charity ball experience, where revelers must remember, amid the revelry, that we are here for a cause. The auction slowed down for a moment to show a video about Kace Phillips, a St. Mark’s graduate and father of two who died earlier this year of brain cancer. His young children and wife took the stage, and when Frye opened the auction for research in his honor, hoping for donations of $100,000, a man dressed in a brown velvet Gucci jacket and a baseball hat cowboy stood up and showed his five fingers, meaning an offer of $500,000. . The bidder turned out to be Chris Parvin, owner of White Rhino Coffee.

(At press time, Cattle Baron’s had not yet released final figures for the amount of money raised.)

The finale of the evening arrived with Carrie Underwood, who took the stage at 10:30 p.m., looking like she could have stood out from the crowd in her crystal-encrusted cutoff jeans, big sparkly bow, and sequined black top with a leather jacket. short jeans. “We are happy to be at this party,” she said. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

Indeed, it was. Alcohol had relaxed the crowd and women were jumping on chairs near the back to dance to “Church Bells” and “Cowboy Casanova.” The most inspired performance of the evening, however, was a cover of Guns N’ Roses’ “Paradise City,” when Underwood threw his denim jacket to the floor and whipped his long blonde hair, hitting notes that Axl Rose only wishes she could touch. . “Will you please take me home?” she shouted, right around the time black vans and white shuttles began lining up near the entrance to Southfork to do just that.

The concert ended at midnight sharp, and outside on the lawn, platters of breakfast tacos, plates of fried snacks, and a Raising Cane food truck had magically appeared, the master planner type Once again anticipating our needs. The after-party lasted until 2 a.m., but I was heading home. These cowboy boots gave me a blister.