Mason Lowe: A Champion Bull Rider and Friend Gone But Forever With Us

On a raw, gray, January morning in 2019, they started arriving at the church in Boonesville, Missouri as a fraternal order, pulling up in American-made pickup trucks with shotgun racks displaying bumper stickers advertising Harley Davidson and Jack Daniels, local rodeos, and American flags.

They moved through the early day’s misty rain in the stiff shuffle of still-stunned friends, in the dull light slowly trudging across the muddy parking lot toward the Open Bible Prairie Center. They walked arm-in-arm with wives and girlfriends, cowboys in jackets proudly embroidered with the logos of the American Cowboy Association, Great Lakes Circuit Finals Rodeo, Central Bull Riders Association, and the PBR World Finals.

There was no rush. Nothing could change what had to be formally acknowledged.

Inside the chapel, pew after pew revealed a phalanx of wide-brimmed hats. Cowboy church music played over speakers set alongside the altar. “This Little Light of Mine” and “Go Tell it on the Mountain,” first heard in Sunday school, now a somber soundtrack accompanying the quiet weeping of a young widow on shaky legs led to the altar displaying her husband’s weathered riding gear.

Every seat was taken. Everyone sat at attention, waiting patiently. Not a person was peering into a phone. Nobody was going to disrespect the soul being laid to rest: their good friend; a fine man who could be a generous pillar of the community by day while cutting loose like a hilarious cowboy Marx brother at night; an iridescent personality; owner of an impish grin once seen and never forgotten; the fun-loving, unassuming kid next door; the most famous face in town; the local boy who made it to the Big Time, professional bull rider Mason Lowe.

Mason had died eight days earlier riding in Denver Coliseum at the National Western Stock Show.

Even though the passing of a man in his profession is not a freak occurrence, the news cut to the bone. The subsequent outpouring of love and support from all corners of the Western sports community was so large and unexpected, Mason’s family asked for the services to be made available globally on a digital stream.

He radiated a vibe often described as “infectious.” Every time PBR made a video, Mason wanted to be the rider featured. He may not have been ranked in the Top 5 but was the proverbial home run hitter, riding some of the world’s toughest bulls, staying on enough to make the World Finals three times in his 25 years. Beyond these very respectable on-the-dirt stats, Mason’s irrepressible likeability surely justified inclusion as a face of the sport.

“Mason wasn’t one to rip his shirt off and show the Superman logo; he was low key, often in the shadows, and therefore didn’t get as much TV time as other riders projecting bigger personalities for the cameras,” former PBR on CBS sideline reporter Leah Garcia would later observe. “But if you sat down for a beer with Mason, you’d absolutely fall in love with his sly, sarcastic sense of humor. He was more Cool Hand Luke. He was a tough gladiator and a cocky daredevil full of ambition and aggression, spitting in the face of danger, and at the end of the day – and I mean this in the most respectful way – like a little boy who’d jump up and celebrate when he was happy and get angry with himself when he wasn’t doing what he knew he could.”

It is our nature to try to find words quantifying and weighing a man’s life once he’s gone. Pastor Tom Levin set the stage by saying, “In sorrow, we find hope. Grief and memory live side by side in our hearts.”

Amid sniffling and quiet sobs, memories of Mason shared by the familiar voices of PBR arena announcers Matt West and Clint Atkins, by turns hilarious and heartfelt, brought harder tears.

In a world casually throwing around the term, “cowboy,” he was the real deal, “a genuine cowboy,” they said: a tough, fun-loving American original who loved life and wanted those around him to love it, too.

He made his friends laugh until their faces hurt. He never met a stranger, they said. He was humble and generous – not a pretentious cell in his body. (Those kinds of cells must have been replaced by whatever protein and mitochondria trigger generosity. Mason frequently paid the contestant entry fees for cowboys a bit short that week.)

The words of Lowe’s brothers in the PBR locker room were read aloud to warm the chilly stillness of the Missouri church.

Derek Kolbaba said Mason brightened every room he walked into.

Stormy Wing attested to no dull moments with Mason, every one of them to be cherished.