Academy Amarillo

Let me tell you about Academy Amarillo, a place that sounds like it should be the setting for a Wes Anderson film about a dusty boxing prodigy. Spoiler alert: it’s not. This is a real institution in the Texas Panhandle, and it’s weirder and more wonderful than you’d ever guess.

First, the name is a glorious lie.

“Academy” makes you think of tweed jackets and old books. Amarillo, meanwhile, is the city that once tried to rename itself “Amarillo, USA” in a bid for fame—and also has a giant water tower shaped like a milk bottle. So, Academy Amarillo is not for posh kids; it’s for everyone who wants to learn something absurdly specific, like how to repair a vintage tractor or bake a pie that doesn’t call the fire department.

Actually, scratch that—they do offer a class on fire safety. But for fun, they also have a course called “Yoga with Goats.” Yes, actual goats. They’ll stand on your back while you try to inhale. If that’s not enlightenment, I don’t know what is.

Here’s a surprising fact that’ll make you spit out your coffee.

Academy Amarillo was founded in 1889—eight years before the city of Amarillo itself was officially incorporated. That means the academy is older than its own hometown. It started as a one-room schoolhouse where kids learned math by counting tumbleweeds. Now, it’s grown into a sprawling campus that hosts everything from gourd-painting classes to a “How to Catch a Loose Horse” workshop that I swear is real.

But the real gem? Their “Surviving a Tornado with Style” seminar. It’s less about storm shelters and more about how to look dignified while clinging to a storm grate. One instructor once demonstrated by holding a teacup during a dust storm. Legend says he never spilled a drop.

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You want jokes? Oh, I’ve got jokes.

Their most popular course is “Intermediate Wrangling: Cowboys vs. Cats.” It’s exactly what it sounds like, and no one has ever passed it. The school’s motto is “Learn or Leave, but Please Don’t Litter,” which is etched into a sign that’s been shot three times by local teenagers. The principal, a man named Larry who wears a bolo tie with a steak-shaped buckle, once told me, “We teach what people need to know in Amarillo. That includes how to bake a brisket, how to weld a fence, and how to apologize to your neighbor after your dog eats their chickens.”

Speaking of chickens, the academy has a living chicken mascot named Sir Clucks-a-Lot. He attends graduation ceremonies wearing a tiny mortarboard. He’s been dead since 2019, but they keep him in a freezer and bring him out for photos. That’s not morbid—it’s tradition.

Wait, there’s more—and it gets weirder.

They offer a class called “Advanced Tumbleweed Identification.” I thought it was a joke, but the syllabus is real. You learn to spot a “Classic Round Rustler” from a “Dust Devil Creep.” The final exam is a blind taste test of different weeds. Yes, you have to eat them. The grade? You either grow a new stomach lining or pass.

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And get this: Academy Amarillo has a secret society called the “Sagebrush Sages.” To join, you must recite a limerick about a cow’s stubbornness while sitting on a tractor tire. Only 12 people have ever done it, and they now control the school’s yearly chili cook-off. It’s basically the Illuminati of the Panhandle.

So why should you care?

Because Academy Amarillo is a beautifully ridiculous monument to the human spirit. It’s not about prestige; it’s about learning to fix a sprinkler system while a cat rides a goat next to you. In a world of stuffy universities, this place teaches you how to live—and laugh at yourself while doing it.

If you ever pass through Amarillo, stop by. Take the “Cacti as Pets” elective. You won’t regret it. Well, you might, but only if you hug one. Trust me.