A SEAT AT HISTORY’S TABLE: History, Horses, and Sleeping Saddles

 

A SEAT AT HISTORY’S TABLE: History, Horses, and Sleeping Saddles. 

Young Soldiers at Camp Buffalo Soldiers in Fort Worth, Texas.

By Sam Allen, Buffalo Soldiers Historian & Instructor at Camp Buffalo Soldiers at New Mount Rose Missionary Baptist Church.

I’ve been at this Buffalo Soldiers thing a long time. Walked the trails they walked. Held the kind of gear they carried on their backs. Told their stories in classrooms, churches, and out on dusty fields where you can still almost hear the hoofbeats. But I’ll tell you what—on Saturday, August 2, 2025, right there at New Mount Rose Missionary Baptist Church in Fort Worth, I saw something that reminded me exactly why we do this.

We had four kids—three boys and one girl. Never been in uniform. Never mounted a horse. Never laid their head on a saddle under the open sky. But by the end of that day, they weren’t just learning about Buffalo Soldiers. They were becoming Buffalo Soldiers. And not just for themselves, either. They’re heading to Washington, D.C., to represent Texas at the Congressional Gold Medal Ceremony for the Harlem Hellfighters of the 369th Infantry Regiment. That’s not a small thing. That’s history meeting future face-to-face.

I wasn’t out there alone. Commander RosieLeetta Reed rolled in with her “suitcase of history”—and when I say suitcase, I mean it’s like a time machine you can unzip. Canteens, maps, medals, stories that make you feel like you’re out on the frontier with the wind at your back. Those kids couldn’t take their eyes off her. They wanted to touch everything, like maybe some of that history would rub off on their hands.

Then there was Mr. Paul McCowan from East Texas. Now, Paul can ride. When he swung up on that horse and took off across the yard, I swear for a second I thought I was watching the old cavalry roll through. And he didn’t just show them how to ride—he taught them how to care for the horse. Because anybody can sit in a saddle, but a Buffalo Soldier? A Buffalo Soldier knows the horse is part of the mission.

That’s where I jumped in with my first rule: “Never walk behind a horse. Always walk in front where he can see you.” I told them, “That horse ain’t trying to hurt you, but if you startle him, that back hoof will teach you a lesson you won’t forget.” You could see the light bulbs go on. That’s a lesson that’ll keep them safe for life.

My part started with the uniforms. We got those replicas from Texas Parks & Wildlife, and I’ll tell you, something happens when you put that jacket on a kid. Shoulders straighten. Heads lift. They stood in the sanctuary for photos like they knew they were standing on holy ground—not just church holy, but history holy.

And then came my favorite part: sleeping saddles. Folks don’t always think about that, but out on the frontier, those saddles weren’t just for riding. They were pillows. They were comfort when there wasn’t any. We laid those saddles out, told the kids to rub the leather, get to know it, and then lay their heads down. We threw a blanket over them, and for a moment—just a quiet moment—they looked up at the sky the same way soldiers did 150 years ago. You could almost hear the prairie breathing.

We ended the day the way it was meant to be ended: each of them taking their turn in the saddle. At first they were awkward, laughing a little, gripping too tight. But then something changed. You could see it in their faces. They weren’t pretending anymore. They were stepping into something bigger than themselves.

And that’s when it hit me. When they ride into Washington, D.C., they won’t just be four kids from Fort Worth. They’ll be carrying every lesson, every story, every ounce of pride from Camp Buffalo Soldiers 2025. They’ll be carrying Commander Reed, Mr. McCowan, Texas Parks & Wildlife, Pastor Kyev Tatum, the whole New Mount Rose family, and all of us who believe this history still matters.

That’s what it means to have a seat at history’s table. You don’t just sit down. You earn it. You come prepared. You come proud. And you make sure that when your name gets called, you’re not just speaking for yourself—you’re speaking for everyone who got you there.