Harris, unlike many in the rodeo business, doesn’t use a stage name. He’s happy with the one he got — by accident.

“I was born at home,” he said. “The doctor had to send in my birth certificate. It was supposed to be Cecil, but it came out Lecile. It just stuck.”

It served much the same purpose in his growing up as the name Sue did in the famous Johnny Cash song.

“When you’re born with the name Lecile you learn to fight in the second grade,” he said.

-Messenger photo by Hans Madsen Rodeo Clown Lecile Harris, of Collierville, Tennesee, adjusts his "baggies" Saturday afternoon while getting ready to perform at the 80th annual Dayton Championship Rodeo.

He decided to simply keep it.

“I thought I needed a clown name,” he said. “I tried a lot of them. None of them ever stuck. Once you learn it, you don’t forget it. It was a good name to teach me to fight, but also a good clown name.”

While Harris does have 13 professional boxing matches to his credit, much of his career was spent in the rodeo ring fighting bulls instead of contenders.

That took place, after he finished college.

“I was studying animal husbandry and wanted to go on to vet school,” he said. “I was already fighting bulls. I could see a career in it.”

-Messenger photo by Hans Madsen Rodeo Clown Lecile Harris, of Collierville, Tennesee, watches as the first of the Saturday night show crow makes their way onto the grounds during the 80th annual Dayton Championship Rodeo.

When he began his career things were a little less specialized than they are today; the line between a rodeo clown and bull fighter was often a blurry one.

“When I started,” he said, “you had to be everything. You had to do comedy and fight bulls. There was usually just one of you at a rodeo.”

Being good at the funny side only helped.

“It was easier to get jobs if you were funny than if you’re a really good bull fighter,” he said.

Harris didn’t just rely on rodeo work to make a living. He learned early on that a career can come to a sudden halt.

“I realized that once I had a family,” he said. “In this business, one night you could be crippled.”

When not performing, he puts lots of hard work into a sign-painting business.

“I knew if I kept that up I’d have a way to make a living,” he said.

Those efforts expanded. He also built a successful painting company, construction company and a sandblasting business.

“I maintained those in case anything ever happened,” he said.

Harris decided to quit bull fighting at the age of 52 after he got hurt at a rodeo in Reno, Nevada. After that, he also quit adding to the list of 100 fractures he’s ended up with during his long career.

“I thought it was time to stop,” he said.

He found a ready audience for his clowning skills.

“There’s so many bull fighters,” he said. “So few comedy clowns.”

Harris puts on his show makeup in the back seat of his king cab pickup. A mirror with lights is rigged to the back of the driver’s seat. His hat and wig wait on the seat next to him. The sad clown face he ends up with is nearly the same one he first applied so many years ago.

“I modeled my character after Emmett Kelly,” he said. “I wanted to have that old tramp appearance.”

His first time with makeup, the result was almost permanent. He had to improvise with lipstick and what he thought was shoe polish to use for the beard part of his character’s face.

“Kivi brand came in little bottles,” he said. “The dye and the polish looked almost the same. I thought I’d never get it off.”

Harris also toured with his son, Matt Harris, in a clowning partnership that lasted 20 years.

“He retired a couple of years ago,” Harris said. “His name is still on the trailer with mine. We always worked as a team.”

It did have a few, well, moments.

“When you’re the dad,” he said, “you’re the dad.”

Harris loves the feedback he gets from the audience. He said it’s a little tougher in Dayton arena since the audience is further away than at most shows. He will be sticking to tried and true material for the shows.

Comedic failure is a clown’s worst nightmare.

“When I fought bulls,” he said, “I’d get hit. As they carry you out, there’s a little glory in it. When comedy goes sour, there’s no help, there’s no glory. You want to dig a hole and crawl in. It’s a lonely place.”

Harris does have some help. He has great praise for Boyd Polhamus, the ring announcer. He credits a common background in music which helps with timing — which is the key, Harris said, to good comedy.

“If you don’t have the right timing it’s not going to work. Timing is not everything, it’s the only thing. Without it good material is a waste.”

At eight decades, Harris remains active.

“I do about a hundred shows a year,” he said. “I used to do about 150. I would like to get back to 75 or 80.”

He’s happy to share the secret to a long life.

“Stay active,” he said.

Then, waiting just the right amount of time, he added, “I think.”

He uses the example of an old piece of farm machinery, a machine being driven into the arena to stir up the soil. Most of it was rusty and didn’t look like much, but the tips of the blades, where they had gouged the earth, were bright and shiny.

“I want to stay shiny for awhile,” he said. “I still enjoy life. I enjoy people. I study people.”

That pays off in the ring during his routine.

“I’ll take it and exaggerate it,” he said. “They get a laugh. They’re paying to see what I saw to begin with.”

Harris has done a lot of work in other fields.

His autobiography, “Lecile: This Ain’t My First Rodeo,” was published in 2015. It won the Will Rogers Award for a Western autobiography in 2016.

“They kept after me to write a book,” he said.

Written with Rex Allan Jones, Harris is happy with the result.

“It turned out great,” he said. “I hate dry autobiographies. I wanted my autobiography to be a series of stories.”

The back cover features a photograph of Harris in costume sitting on a toilet in a rodeo ring.

“I want it to be a toilet book,” he said. “Each story is about one job long, but not so long that your feet go to sleep.”

Harris was also on the TV show “Hee Haw,” has had roles in several films and was the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Association Clown of the Year four times. He’s a 2007 inductee into the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame.

In the end, though, it all comes down to what he’s been able to do for his family.

“I’ve been able to send my grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren, to college and to school,” he said. “That’s a blessing. They’re all doing well and doing what they want to do.”

Lecile Harris can be seen at the Dayton Rodeo during each night and Sunday afternoon’s rodeo performance.

Dayton Rodeo

• Tonight’s rodeo, Tough Enough to Wear Pink Night, starts at 7 p.m.

• Monday’s rodeo is at 1:30 p.m. and it’s Kids Day.

• The annual Labor Day parade is at 10 a.m. Monday.

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