I picked up the guitar at age15, and from that moment on 90s rock was my heartbeat. As I matured, I began writing songs that fused that raw energy of grunge with country and everything from Willie Nelson’s heartbreak songs to Alison Chains’ grit. I don’t just sing these songs—I live them. Every word, every note, it’s from my soul. I’ve battled addiction and depression, and at 48, there’s no better high than being on stage. Every song, every lyric—I’ve lived them, and I share them in hope.”
"THIS AINT MY FIRST RODEO"
By the age of 24, in 2001, I began riding bulls at Circle M Rodeo in Orwell, Ohio. Those two worlds ran side by side—music and riding. By my eighth ride, though, I was in a hospital bed—my head split down to the skull, 14 staples holding me together. But the true pain was always something I carried inside.
I kept riding, though. In 2004, Jewel’s Dance Hall in Ashtabula sponsored me, and I took 1st place in their summer series. I trained with Mike Yunker in Mansfield, always trying to catch up to a past I couldn’t let go of. But in 2005, the courts forced me to quit riding.
Still, the fire never left. In 2019, I climbed back on at the Lake County Fair—one ride, and that ride broke my collarbone. I wasn’t done chasing those lost years. In 2021, sober for the first time, I joined the S.E.B.R.A. circuit—a whole series of rides, each one a step toward reclaiming what I lost. And even after I stepped back, there’s a part of me that can never be tamed—a restlessness that still rides with me today. I still can’t tame it—and maybe, I never will.
How i got my nickname "lc"
“They call me LC, and here’s why: Back in my bull riding days, I was always the smallest in the crew. My buddies started calling me ‘The Littlest Cowboy’ after a Chris LeDoux song, and over time, that just got shortened to LC. The name stuck—so here I am!”
lets dance
I started line dancing in 2001 at Jewels Dance Hall in Ashtabula, Ohio. It didn’t take long before I fell in love with the place—it quickly began to feel like home.
Over the years, I met so many incredible people there, many of whom are still close friends today. Jewels wasn’t just about dancing—it was where connections were made, memories were built, and even a few romantic relationships began.
It’s also where I first got into bull riding, adding even more excitement to the experience.
Jewels became well-known beyond our local community, even being mentioned in the famous song “I Love This Bar” by Toby Keith.
Although the dance hall is now closed, the spirit of that place lives on. We’re still a strong line dance community, coming together whenever we can to keep the music, friendships, and tradition alive
Jack of many master of none
duke and fel
my babies
Boots & Hope – An Unlikely Bond
Boots is a wild cottontail I found as a tiny baby a few springs ago. I was out by the horse barns killing weeds when I suddenly heard a squeal beneath my boot. I stepped back and saw a tiny bunny move forward just a few feet. I picked him up, and from that moment on, it was love at first sight.
Many people said he wouldn’t survive, but I fed him goat’s milk from a bottle for the first 10 days until he was strong enough for solid food. Against the odds, he grew stronger every day. Boots and I became inseparable—he would even sit on my shoulder as I drove from place to place.
As time went on, though, his wild instincts began to take over. One day he stopped letting me hold him, and I knew he was becoming what he was meant to be. Still, I could tell he was lonely.
Last October, I brought home a 6-week-old Mini Rex female and named her Hope—because at the time, I needed some hope in my own life. At first, I kept her in a cage while Boots roamed free so they could slowly get used to each other.
By February, I built Hope a pen before going into rehab, not wanting her stuck in a cage for a month. Somehow, Boots found a way to squeeze through a narrow gap and join her. To my surprise, they got along beautifully.
People said a wild cottontail and a domestic rabbit would never bond—but once again, Boots proved them wrong.
the struggle within
Growing up, I struggled with depression and addiction from a very young age. I was drinking by the time I was around 12 years old, always chasing something that could quiet my mind for a while. What started with alcohol eventually turned into a decades-long battle with pills, jail time, rehabs, psychiatric wards, overdoses, and drugs I swore I would never touch.
After surviving a near-fatal car accident in 2002 that left me without a kidney, things spiraled even further. Prescription pain medication opened doors to even darker addictions, and over the years I found myself battling alcohol, cocaine, heroin, meth, and countless self-destructive behaviors that nearly took my life more than once. I crossed lines I never imagined crossing, including becoming an IV drug user, and there were many times I honestly didn’t think I’d survive.
But somehow I did.
Music became one of the few places where I could tell the truth about what I lived through. The songs I sing and write come from real pain, real mistakes, real loss, and real survival. There’s a reason behind every lyric that speaks about darkness, redemption, loneliness, regret, hope, and fighting to keep going.
I recently checked into rehab again in February at Glenbeigh after battling another addiction, taking up to 75 kratom pills a day. Recovery is still a journey for me, but today I’m still here, still standing, and still using music to tell my story the only honest way I know how.