By Chris Wilson
Arkansas Farm Bureau

Keith Stokes opens the rusty orange cattlegate, steps through and chains it shut behind him.

With a bag of white grapes tucked under his arm, he unlocks the door to the breeding-gestation barn that used to house his Dardanelle (Yell County) feeder-pig operation. He eyes the deep mud pits to his right and descends into the dark building.

A few minutes later, a mohawked head peeks shyly through the door. The 500-pound hog sniffs, snorts, then sluggishly starts off toward the mud, tail wagging.

Donald W. Reynolds Razorback Stadium in Fayetteville may be the “Home of the Razorbacks,” but this is the home of the razorback.

Every morning at 6 a.m., on his way to work Stokes swings by his old farm to take care of Tusk II, the 6-year-old Russian boar who serves as the UofA football team’s live mascot. Now a logging supervisor for a Russellville lumber company, for years Stokes was a swine farmer, raising hogs for Tyson Foods before the company scaled back its pork interests in 2002.

Stokes Farms is now at 1-percent capacity. The spacious, temperature-controlled facility that used to house 300 head of livestock is now home to one spoiled celebrity razorback and his two brothers, Big Red and Harry.

Another drastic change for Stokes: he’s gone from raising pig as protein source to pig as promotional tool.

“I’ve always enjoyed being around animals,” he says. “I’ve been around them my whole life. Even with my commercial operation, I had some that were like pets. But this is different.

“Here’s the thing about Tusk, Mr. King, Mr. Royalty, Mr. Special Treatment. When he eats watermelon, he won’t eat the rind. You have to hold it, and he eats the heart, the red, and he’s through. Then, you pick up another piece of watermelon, and he eats that.

“His brothers, you just throw it in and they scarf it down. Him, he’s special.”

A big-shot ego, for sure, but it’s not completely unjustified. On autumn weekends, this hog gets put on a stadium-size pedestal. An important part of Razorback football festivities, Tusk travels to all home games in his custom trailer, and has become rather used to the adoration of cheering crowds.

“If you’ve ever wanted to know what it’s like to be a rock star, just make a trip with us,” says Stokes, who pulls Tusk’s trailer with his Razorback-red truck. “You will literally get mobbed. It’s amazing how people want to see Tusk, be close to him and take pictures of him.”

As far as collegiate traditions go, the Tusk sensation is fairly new. It started in 1996, a bad year for Razorback football.

Early-season losses had sapped attendance numbers, and the fans that did show were apathetic. Few seemed excited about watching the slow, painful spectacle that, in the end, left Arkansas 2-6 in conference play and in the market for a new head coach.

It was in this climate that athletic director Frank Broyles tasked David Bazzel with the chore of boosting fan excitement.

Bazzel, who played linebacker for the Hogs in 1981–85, had done previous work for the UofA athletic department. He was instrumental in the creation of the Broyles Award, an honor for college football’s top assistant coaches; and the Battle for the Golden Boot, the annual rivalry game between Arkansas and LSU.

“At the time … the atmosphere outside the game really had nothing,” Bazzel said. “There was a little tailgating, sure, but there wasn’t really an organized effort. My main goal was to try and create any type of stimulus I could think of ­— ‘Let’s get more food out there. Let’s get more music. Let’s get a central place for pep rallies.’”

Eventually, Bazzel’s attention turned to the university’s live-mascot program, which had been in place since the 1960s. In his mind, it had always left something to be desired.

The program had never used a real razorback. The tradition had always been that, every game day, students from the school’s agriculture fraternity, Alpha Gamma Rho, would go to the university farm, pick up a boar and bring it to the game.

The only problem with that, Stokes says, was that the closest thing the students could come up with was a Duroc boar, a “farm pig” with long, floppy ears.

“Long ears, whether on a hog or a bloodhound, give an animal a lazy look,” Stokes says.

Or as Bazzel puts it, “When I was playing ball, I used to look at that thing and say, ‘That’s our mascot?’

“It was a poor example of a fighting Razorback.”

So with Broyles’ blessing, Bazzel set off to find an actual razorback. It wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be.

He tried zoos all across the country, but the closest things he could find were warthogs.

“Apparently, zoos don’t like to deal with those kind of animals,” Bazzel said.

Empty-handed, he turned to the head of the Arkansas Pork Producers Association, Keith Stokes.

“We were looking all over the country,” Bazzel says, “and we couldn’t find anything. So I said, ‘Keith, see what you can do.’

“He made some calls and, lo and behold, we tracked one down right here in our backyard, in Arkansas!”

Soon after, Bazzel and Stokes took a trip to a farm outside Greenbrier in Faulkner County, where a man named Bud Johnson was breeding Russian boars for sport hunting. It was on Johnson’s farm that they found Tusk I, Tusk II’s sire.

With one search under their belts, the two began another. They had to find a veterinarian brave enough to blood test a 300-pound razorback without putting it under anesthesia.

“Putting animals to sleep is very dangerous,” Stokes says. “You never know how they’re going to react. So, I called all over the world looking for a vet that’d do it awake, and I couldn’t find one.

“Then one day, I was taking my dog up the street to our personal vet, and he said he’d do it — and he did.”

So with a clean bill of health, Tusk I moved into his new home at the Little Rock Zoo, for awhile.

“Then they had their accreditation problems, which brought a new director,” Stokes says. “He felt like, with Tusk, that was not the direction the zoo needed to go.

“So I contacted Lynn Warren, who was a nutritionist with Tyson. She said, ‘We’d love to have him.’”

With that, Tusk I relocated to Northwest Arkansas, where Tyson had built a spot for him on one of its research farms. In 2002, while living on the Tyson farm, Tusk I became a father.

“We brought two females in from Missouri, and we took them and bred two litters,” Stokes says. “We ended up with 16 pigs — really large litters. Most of the time, you only get two or three.

“Then we sorted out the males. We only wanted the males because of the tusks. Then we narrowed it down to three.”

Enter Tusk II, Big Red and Harry.

“We worked with those three and eventually narrowed it down to the one that was easiest to handle and had the best disposition,” Stokes says.

In December 2004, at the age of 12, Tusk I died of natural causes. Two years later, after some land-use issues, it became necessary to once again relocate the Tusk family.

“By that time, I had shut my hog operation down,” Stokes says. “So I said, ‘Hey, let’s just bring them down here. That way I can see Tusk every day, and work with him every day.’”

It was a decision that’s yielded Stokes a lot of hard work, but even more satisfaction. In a state devoid of professional sports and the Razorbacks are almost religion, Stokes is tickled that the symbol of all that fanaticism is on his farm, rolling around in the mud.

“It’s very exciting and very humbling,” he says. “I’m very lucky to be in this position. It’s very fulfilling to go out and see the looks in these kids’ eyes.”

At the same time, however, the responsibility is a source of stress. Stokes has nightmares — razorback nightmares.

“I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve woken up in a sweat,” he says. “I had a dream once, I walked out the back door one morning, and Tusk was standing there. ‘Oh my gosh, he’s out! What has he done? What have I done? This is all my fault! The Razorback fans are going to think I’m a horrible person!’”

Then there’s this recurring one: “I keep a lock on the trailer, but I imagine him getting the gate on the trailer open and jumping out going down the road.”

Nightmares aside, Stokes and Bazzel believe the future of the UofA live-mascot program is nothing but bright.

For Stokes, the immediate goal is to create an enviable blood-line program. Two generations in, he’s off to a good start.

This winter, once again Stokes will play the role of matchmaker and make another trip to Missouri. If things go well, Tusk III should be along shortly after.

Bazzel has his own benchmark: to get Tusk out on the field, leading the team through the “Big A.” In addition, he believes Stokes is the person that can make it happen.

“I really think we’ve got the potential here,” Bazzel says. “In the country, nobody has more passion for any live mascot than Keith Stokes.”

It’s a very real possibility, though it likely won’t happen with Tusk II.

“We worked with Tusk in a harness, when he was young,” Stokes says. “But, we kind of dropped the ball. I can handle him pretty well by myself. But, he’s almost 500 pounds of pure muscle, very strong. I don’t want to rush him into a situation like that.”

“The buffalo got loose,” Stokes adds, referring to the University of Colorado mascot “Ralphie V” that broke free during that school’s recent spring game. “When I saw that I thought, ‘Yeah, we don’t need to do that until we get a better training program.’”

For the sake of Stokes’ sleep, he’s probably right.

History of the Razorbacks

Before 1910, the official mascot of the UofA was the Cardinal. According to the school’s website, Hugo Bezdek was responsible for the name change.

“The 1909 season, Bezdek’s second as head (football) coach, was significant because Arkansas went 7-0 against a schedule that included other major colleges. In fact, Arkansas outscored its opponents 186–18. The tough and gritty play of that squad inspired Bezdek.”

After beating Oklahoma 21–6, the team traveled to Memphis for a regional showdown against Louisiana State. A win would give Arkansas a 5–0 record and all but guarantee an undefeated season. So when Arkansas blitzed the Tigers 16–0, a crowd of students and fans gathered at the train station to welcome their team home. Bezdek delivered an impromptu speech, telling the crowd that in the LSU victory, the team had played “like a wild band of razorback hogs.”

Bezdek’s spark became a flame. The name was an instant hit among the student body, which voted in 1910 to change the school’s official mascot from the Cardinals to the Razorbacks, one of the most unique mascots in all of college athletics.

History of the razorback

“There’s not really a razorback breed,” Stokes says. “It’s a generic term for (the feral hog that) runs these hills.”

Swine are not native to North America. Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto brought them. When he and his men roamed the countryside, they brought pigs along as food.

“Of course, as they were doing that,” Stokes says. “One would get loose here, one would get loose there, and they weren’t going to spend the time to round those animals back up.”

Long story short: The escaped pigs thrived in this country’s habitat and became wild, as in untame.

“The hogs, because they’re such efficient machines, can live on anything,” Stokes says. “They have no natural predators. They can find a food source out of whatever’s available: acorns, roots, grubs, bugs, even meat. They’ll eat anything.

“The only thing a hog can’t take is heat — but if there’s water available and mud available, heat’s not a problem.”

Hard-working Hog

It’s not easy being the state’s top hog — or his chauffeur.

Road trips, pep rallies, photo shoots, autograph sessions, meetings with VIPs … it’s all in a day’s work for Tusk II, University of Arkansas football mascot.

Assuming a 7 p.m. Saturday kickoff in Fayetteville, Tusk’s game-week schedule is, to say the least, full:

Wednesday

Tusk gets a bath. He may like his mud coat, but the camera doesn’t. After Wednesday, he’s kept away from the mud and in the temperature-controlled confines of his barn.

Thursday

Tusk gets another bath.

“Thursday, I’ll really wash him down good,” says Keith Stokes, the man responsible for Tusk’s well-being.

Friday

It’s pep rally day. In the afternoon, Tusk loads up in his 25-foot trailer.

“He goes right in,” Stokes says. “He loves it in there.”

Stokes then makes the five-minute drive from his farm to his house, where he washes and polishes the truck and trailer. Around 3 p.m., he and Tusk leave Dardanelle for Fayetteville.

Once in town, they meet up with the UofA cheerleaders. With them atop the trailer, the truck heads for Road Hog Park, an RV park for traveling Razorback fans. From there, a cruise through campus and an impromptu parade down Dickson Street, Fayetteville’s entertainment strip.

After the rally at Chi Omega Greek Theater on campus, Stokes and Tusk drive back to Dardanelle. Once there, Stokes puts Tusk in the barn and heads for the house.

Game Day

8 a.m. – Tusk gets back in his trailer. (It’s worth noting that he normally sleeps until 9 o’clock, so this is an early day for him.) Stokes washes and polishes the truck and trailer one more time.

Noon — Stokes wheels the rig into a Russellville gas station to fill up. A crowd of Hog fans who knows his routine are waiting. Hog calls, photos, a service-station pep rally ensues.

“We love it,” Stokes says. “We want as many people to see (Tusk) as possible. It never fails, though, there’s always a car full of kids pulling up just as we’re leaving.

“I hate that. It really bothers me that we can’t stay for everyone, but we can’t. I just hope people understand that we’re on a tight schedule.”

12:40 p.m. — On the road again.

2 — Pit stop. Stokes pulls over to water and cool down Tusk. Service-station pep rally number two.

3 — On the road again, again.

4 — They arrive in Fayetteville. After inching through game traffic, Stokes parks the truck between the Willard & Pat Walker Pavilion and Barnhill Arena.

6:05 — After the referees are ushered in, the cheerleaders and mascots climb aboard the trailer, and Stokes drives Tusk into the stadium. Some 76,000 fans call the Hogs.

Stokes backs the truck into a corner at the north end zone, unhitches the trailer, and moves the truck just in time to make way for the UofA’s 325-member marching band.

7 kickoff — Tusk gets a chance to relax. Throughout the game, he’ll greet visitors and “sign autographs.” (Stokes took a plaster cast of Tusk’s hoof print and had it made into a stamp.)

“He’s a regular rock star,” Stokes says. “He loves the attention.”

Rock star or not, Stokes stresses that Tusk really doesn’t want to drink your beer or whiskey. So, please don’t offer it.

10:30 – Game over. While the fans are filing out of the stadium basking in the joy of Razorback triumph, Stokes reattaches the truck to the trailer and pulls alongside the stands. For about an hour, while the band plays its post-game “concert,” Tusk meets even more fans.

Midnight – With most of the game traffic gone, Stokes and Tusk make their way back to Dardanelle.

2 a.m. – Back at home. An 18-hour work day under their belts, Stokes puts Tusk to bed and heads straight for his own.

Stokes is adamant: he could not make it through game days without the help of the members of University of Arkansas’ agriculture fraternity, Alpha Gamma Rho.

“Those AGR guys are a tremendous help,” he says. “It’d be hard to do this without them.”