Tag: America

  • Big John, Helper, Utah

    Big John, Helper, Utah, United States of America

    Look at me and my big, black friend! Of course, as a progressive gentleman I’m proud to have many friends of colour, including Larry Fishburne, Halle Berry, and that dude who sings in Counting Crows.

    Wait, maybe he’s not black. But he does have a great set of dreadlocks, so I’ll count him anyway.

    Anyway, back to Big John, the 18-foot-tall coal-black miner who stands silently outside the local library in Helper, Utah. With his square jaw and robust physique, John has watched over the sleepy main street for decades, with the Uinta Mountains rising solemnly behind him.

    And, I’m pleased to say, Big John’s story is every bit as extravagant as he is.

    Back in the early-60s, the proud people of this historic village were in a state of flux, as Helper transitioned from coal mining hub to tourist mecca. With the Western Mining and Railroad Museum – widely known as ‘the Utah Disneyland’ – ready to open, a committee decided that a major miner was the best way to capitalise on the waves of holidaymakers. Sounds like a drill-a-minute experience to me!

    The Helperians approached the good folk at International Fiberglass – yes, those responsible for Harvey the Rabbit and Chicken Boy – to construct a collier of extraordinary proportions. Starting with a mould of Paul Bunyan, the team swapped out the axe for a prodigious pick and packed him off to the mines.

    With their tall, dark and handsome prospector on the way, the good people of Helper just needed to sit back, relax, and wait for the tourist dollars to start pouring in. But first they needed a name just as big and bombastic as as their hero…

    You were always on my mine

    Ev’ry mornin’ at the mine you could see him arrive
    He stood six-foot-six and weighed two-forty-five
    Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip
    And everybody knew, ya didn’t give no lip… to Big John!

    In 1964, the streets of Helper hung heavy with the dulcet tones of Jimmy Dean and his poignant hit, Big Bad John. The tale of a brawny coal miner who meets his fate at the bottom of a pit, the song resonated with the hardworking locals. And so it was only fitting that their shiny new Big would borrow the name.

    Although the Helperians did drop ‘Bad’ from the name, possibly to avoid a copyright claim from Jimmy Dean’s notoriously dogged legal team. Or maybe because there’s nothing naughty about this fellow at all. Big John is a kind, considerate and surprisingly sensitive giant, with a broad smile for all who wander the dusty streets of Helper.

    Sadly, Big John’s not allowed into the bar up the road, because they don’t serve miners – teehee!

    As he stands afore the well-stocked library, I took the opportunity to stretch out ‘neath John’s size-72 boots and polish off a few chapters of Between a Rock and a Hard Place, a romance novel set in the coal mines of 1870s Utah.

    Of course, with that cheeky grin beaming down at me, I found it impossible to concentrate and kept reading the same page over and over again!

    Johnny Be Good!

    Big John’s just as coal as a cucumber and certainly never boering. So it comes as no surprise that he’s inspired several other Bigs around the globe – and you won’t have to dig deep to find ’em!

    Standing in John’s towering shadow, one can’t help draw comparisons to another ruggedly gorgeous pitman on the opposite side of the world. Map the Miner, a 23-foot copper excavator, guards the South Australian hamlet of Kapunda. Two big, strong, working chaps who all the boys want and all the girls want to be.

    Then there’s The Big Gold Panner Man, The Big Miner’s Lamp and The Big Gold Pick and Pan, all on the edge of the Aussie desert. For something closer to Utah, there are a couple of gigantic prospectors just outside Las Vegas for those hoping to strike it rich!

    Over the years John’s helped Helper grow and flourish into a quirky, artistic outpost with some high-class restaurants if you’re into fine mining. It’s also become a town that prides itself on ethnic diversity. With a noble black man as its most famous resident, how could it be anything but?

    Big John, the Utahn miner with a face full of soot and a heart full of gold, has shown the world that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. We can achieve racial harmony through oversized roadside attractions.

    Bigs, my friends, not bigotry.

  • Private Passage, New York

    Private Passage, New York, New York

    Ayy, I’m drinkin’ here! Grab a slice o’ pie and raise a zesty glass of cab sav as we toast Private Passage, a bottle of wine so massive it’s sure to arouse even the most grizzled New Yawker.

    I’m your sommelier, the irrepressible Bigs von Bubbles; effervescent Upper East Side socialite, lifelong substance abuser, and self-indulgent wine snob. But then you already knew that, ya putz!

    Private Passage is a truly bombastic vintage, carefully curated by Malcolm Cochran in the sun-dappled summer of 2005. Eminently approachable yet amply idiosyncratic across the tongue to demand introspective exploration, this most remarkable variety can only be experienced at the evergreen Hudson River Park.

    The regal, almost clandestine shape of the bottle is emphasised by its rhapsodic proportions – measuring 30 feet from classy cork to bulbous bottom. Womanly curves are, at once, both sensual and functional, luring in the unsuspecting with an irresistible siren call.

    Tapered edges and bold, zaftig angles create a sense of place and space, consummately connecting Private Passage to its Bohemian surroundings.

    “I was able to work closely with the landscape architects,” Malcolm Cochran explained, “to site the bottle smack in the middle of the granite esplanade and without visible support to suggest impermanence. That it might have washed up or could float downstream into the Atlantic. Passage is intended both on a literal and figurative level.”

    Or something like that. Hick!

    Malcolm in the Middle (of a lot of Big Things)

    For Monsieur Cochran, a proud Ohio man who has dedicated his life to fermenting oversized attractions, Private Passage presented an opportunity to return to the very womb of his cultural and artistic gestation.

    “When considering this commission I knew I would want to explore my personal relationship to the Hudson River Park site,” the vionary wined. “In 1955 my father had a Fulbright to teach English in Helsinki. We sailed from New York to Europe that summer (I was six years old) and returned the following year on the Maasdaam, a Holland-American liner.

    “The interviews for artists were held at the HRP Trust offices in Pier 40. I realized on entering the lobby that it was a former Holland-American Line terminal; I had disembarked in that building 45 years earlier.”

    You truly were destined to birth this exquisite design, my friend. Just as it’s destined that I shall guzzle three bottles of Cab Franc this evening and then crash my Prius into a hot dog vendor’s cart over by 45th and 3rd. Hick!

    You’re always on my wine

    Those adventurous enough to peak betwixt the Bottle’s stately portholes shall be treated to an opulent representation of an interior stateroom from the legendary ocean liner, the Queen Mary. Fashioned from sheet metal in a monochromatic colour scheme, it’s sure to leave you dripping with nostalgic wonder.

    “The cabin is outfitted for a single individual, and it contains no personal effects,” Malcolm pulpiteered. “I aimed to create the sense that the room was ready to be occupied, that the viewer could project her-or-himself into the space and imagine a solitary journey.”

    Fearless yet considered, vibrant and complex, this carafe de vino is a truly sumptuous expression of purity and balance. A decadent experience across the palate with fine, quasi-baroque tannins, Private Passage provides the perfect accompaniment to a debaucherous platter of ocean-fresh shrimp and a visit to the nearby Spot the Dog statue.

    With subtle hints of dark cherry, gooseberry and black olive, this most elegant of the Bigs boasts earthy nuances and a zesty bouquet of urine and hobo socks.

    Yes, there are other varieties of Big Wine Bottles, such as those found in less civilized regions of the world, such as the comparatively ghastly Pokolbin and Rutherglen in Australia. But honesty, as a member of New York’s cultural elite, I’d rather slurp water from a dog bowl than be seen with swill like that that.

    Whilst your common New Yorker, with his brash and braggadocious attitude, may bristle at the suggestion, I believe it’s time to distance this cultural hub from a nickname so boorish as The Big Apple. The Big Bottle of Full-Bodied Merlot Boasting Deep Purple Hues and Incandescent Memories of Nutmeg Complemented by Herbaceous Notes and Oaky Flavors, Quirky Textures and a Velveteen Finish sounds about right to me. Hick!

    A word of caution

    If a slightly overweight gentleman in a trench coat approaches you late at night and asks to see your private passage, don’t take him down to the docks for a historical tour of New York’s most unusual tourist attraction. That’s not what he’s after, and he’ll have little interest in an oversized wine bottle other than to use it as the backdrop for his sordid shenanigans.

    Call me sometime, Alejandro!

  • The Big Orange, Dania Beach, Florida

    The Big Orange, Dania Beach, Florida, United States of America

    Beg, borrow or peel, because the time is ripe to orange a visit to the sweet seaside village of Dania Beach, where The Big Orange is open all year rind. Squeeze be advised that this mandarin-credible roadside attraction can be found round the side of Alex’s Flamingo Groves & Gift Shop. Pre-pear for a bargain, as prices have been rejuiced!

    You might find my jokes pith-etic, but pomelo out, dude. I reckon I’m hi-spherical!

    Whilst The Big Orange offers a nice place to citrus and think, or maybe even get a suntan-gerine, the sense of neglectarine is pulpable. It really is a lime against humanity, because all this pipular tourist trap seeds is a little love. Hey, hey, don’t fruit the messenger and stop threatening me with valencia – I mean you no harmalade!

    The Big Orange doesn’t quite measure up to Fort Lauderdale’s other Big Things, such as Thrive and Pegasus, but I probably shouldn’t manda-bring them up. Honestly, that would be like comparing apples and… well, some other sort of fruit.

    Well that’s enough navel-gazing from me, so all the zest!

  • The Undaunted Spirit, Fremont, Washington

    The Undaunted Spirit, Brown Bear Car Wash, Fremont, Washington, United States of America

    Are you teddy for a good time? Then track down this snout-standing bronze bear, who is paws-ibly the hairiest, scariest, most delicious chap in Seattle. Trust me, you’ll fang me for it later!

    Known as The Undaunted Spirit, the giant grizzly can be found outside the un-bear-lievably bargain-priced Brown Bear Car Wash. They boast centres across the hiber-nation, most with ultra-sized ursidaes out the front. I guess they just like panda-ing to bear lovers.

    This ferocious fourteen-footer was created by local artist, horseman and naturist naturalist Lorenzo Ghiglieri. He fell in love with the rugged Washington landscape decades ago, and dedicated his life to recreating it through his art – often working bearfoot.

    Never bear us apart!

    This cute little cub has been on the lookout for a big, strong, handsome bear to growl old with. Upon meeting The Undaunted Spirit, I threw restraint out the window to bear my very soul to him. Sadly, despite being un-bear-ably handsome, this hirsute hunk can also be a little aloof, and rebuffed my advances. I guess he might be a bi-polar bear.

    My visit to the Brown Bear wasn’t a complete waste, however. Not having a car to wash due to an international driving ban that American authorities take surprisingly seriously, I strolled through for a much-needed shower after weeks of wandering the highways of the United States.

    Yes, I ended up with industrial strength bleach in my eyes and the bristles left several serious lacerations on my face and thorax that may never heal, but it was nice to chat with people afterwards without them wincing at my musky stench.

    Fremont really does have an An em-bear-assment of riches when it comes to Big Things. The Undaunted Spirit isn’t fur from the tendentious Lenin statue, and the Fremont Troll is also claws by. It seems like every street offers a kodiak moment!

  • Lenin Statue, Fremont, Washington

    Lenin Statue, Fremont, Seattle, Washington, United States of America

    Vladimir Lenin was responsible for the brutal slaughter of five million people, but this tribute to the deranged dictator is plenty of fun to take photos with, so I’m sure we can all look past that!

    Yes, it’s unusual – although far from unheard of – to find a massive recreation of a cold-hearted killer, and the story of how he arrived in the liberal enclave of Fremont is absolutely bonkers. Honestly, if the real ‘Lenny’ turned up on The Masked Singer to perform a surprisingly spritzy rendition of We Don’t Talk About Bruno whilst dressed as a crab, it would be less odd than what’s already happened.

    The Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (which was apparently a lot less fun than it sounds) commissioned the statue for $US210,000 in 1981, to be displayed in the grim city of Poprad as a warning to anyone flirting with the twin ideas of democracy and decent living standards.

    Slovak artist Emil Venkov took more than seven years to complete his work – just in time for the fall of the republic, at which point Lenny was toppled by enraged locals and dragged through the streets. Hope you got paid up front, Emil!

    “The way to crush the bourgeoisie is to grind them between the millstones of taxation and inflation”

    Vladimir Lenin, Draft and Explanation of a Programme for the Social-Democratic Party

    Coming to America

    A quirky American named Lew Carpenter (no relation to the much-loved Neighbours character) found the statue in a Czech scrapyard sometime later, and was shocked but impressed to discover a homeless chap living inside. Lew grabbed a big stick and whacked the statue a few times and – rychle! – no more homeless chap.

    Hopefully the hobo landed on his shoeless feet, because it’s so hard to find a good vanquished leader to live inside these days.

    Lew Carpenter had grand plans to take the statue back to his hometown of Issaquah, Washington, to lure customers into his struggling ethnic restaurant, Crazy Lew’s Slav Shack. Sure, it would’ve been easier to offer two-for-one borscht on Tuesdays, but where’s the fun in that?

    After years of legal wrangling, he finally received the go-ahead to transport the much-feared dictator to the Land of the Free. At a cost of $US80,000, Lenny was sliced into three pieces and shipped off via Rotterdam. Who knows why he had to stop off in The Netherlands; maybe Lenny just wanted one more reign of terror in Europe before heading into retirement.

    Lew and Len, tragically,  would never embrace again, with the rambunctious restaurateur driving his car off a cliff whilst practising his speech for the statue’s unveiling. Make that five million and one deaths for ol’ Vlad!

    Give me four years to teach the children and the seed I have sown will never be uprooted

    Vladimir Lenin, ​​What the Friends of the People Are and How They Fight the Social-Democrats

    Yankee Doodle Lenny

    With the good people of Issaquah voting to ban the giant hate symbol from their town, Lew’s relatives decided to melt down the statue and have it resurrected as something more palatable. They didn’t, however, count on the owner of the foundry being a student of Marxist theory and a lifelong admirer of Vladimir Lenin.

    Peter Bevis (don’t ask him where Butthead is!) refused to recreate the ending of Terminator 2: Judgment Day by dropping Lenny into a fiery pit of molten magma. He instead bothered the Fremont Chamber of Commerce into agreeing to put the statue on display until someone bought him. So now Vladimir Lenin hangs around outside a taco shop, engaging in illuminating conversation with the stoners who turn up at 2am.

    With a bargain price of just $250,000, it’s a surprise nobody’s snapped Lenny up, considering the price of real estate in Seattle. You couldn’t even get a two-bedroom Leon Trotsky for that price!

    “There she was just a-walkin’ down the street, singin’ ‘Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do’. Snappin’ her fingers and shufflin’ her feet, singin’ ‘Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do’”

    Vladimir Lenin, Once Again On The Trade Unions, The Current Situation and the Mistakes of Trotsky and Buhkarin

    Vladimir Lenin: Gay Icon

    In statue form, as in life, Lenny has proven to be a divisive figure. There are those who claim a statue of a deranged child murderer who brought widespread misery and mayhem has no place in a loving and accepting town such as Fremont.

    Like their Czech cousins, they want to tear poor ol’ Len to pieces and drag him through the streets. Those people haven’t seen the kinder side of Mr Lenin, who is often seen sporting reindeer antlers, clown facepaint and flags of the local sporting franchises.

    Lenny isn’t afraid to exhibit his feminine side by dressing in drag, and has been seen with an oversized penis protruding from his pants. If one of the most bloodthirsty demagogues the world has ever known can show his softer side, to lay himself bare to judgement, to become a beacon of hope in the LGBTQI+ community, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.

    After a wide-ranging conversation that covered everything from the Bolshevik Revolution to the disappointing Queer Eye revival, Vladimir Lenin and I sat silently in the brooding Seattle evening. The last bus back to my hostel had long since left. The taco shop was slopping out its last scoop of guac. I yawned, Lenny yawned, and he peered down at me as if to say, “Go on. If a homeless man can sleep inside me, so can you.”

    And that’s how I spent a surprisingly comfortable night inside Fremont’s divisive Vladimir Lenin statue.

  • The Big Spider, Seattle, Washington

    The Big Spider, Georgetown, Seattle, Washington, United States of America

    Little Bigs Bardot
    Sat in a meadow
    On a lovely Seattle day
    There came a Big Spider,
    Who sat down beside her
    And frightened Bigs Bardot away

    Seattle’s monumental Big Spider is a load of rubbish – and I mean that in the kindest way possible!

    Your valiant reporter, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, was swaggering through the lively streets of Georgetown on my way to see Hat n’ Boots. Suddenly, shockingly, I was accosted by a terrifying creature. There, squatting upon one of the many well-maintained garages the area is famous for, was an arachnid of epic proportions.

    The eight hairy legs! The dozens of beady eyes! The bloodthirsty fangs! The putrid beast clambered towards me, drool pouring from its monstrous maw. I squealed with panic and turned to run, only to find myself ensconced in the arms of a burly stranger.

    “Relax,” he said calmly, “it’s not a real spider.”
    “It’s…not?” I asked timidly, burying my face in the stranger’s shirt.
    “No, it’s just an old Halloween prop I rescued from the trash.”

    Who’s your Daddy Long Legs?

    When I finally gathered the confidence to pluck myself from the Samaritan’s grip and take a closer look at the beastie, I realised he was right. The spider, despite being ferociously realistic and anatomically correct, wasn’t chasing me. He was nailed to the roof for the amusement of passersby.

    This curious stranger sports an impish grin and a roguish disposition (the spider, that is, not the gentleman who owns him – although he is not without his rustic charms). A tsunami of lust washed over me, much as it did upon meeting this spider’s Aussie cousin, Itsy Bitsy. What can I say, I have a thing for creepy crawlies!

    The spider’s owner went on to assure me that yes, he would be refurbishing the giant bug to return him to his former glory. There are even plans to turn the house into a horror attraction, thanks to dozens of other props he’s rescued over the years. He might even set up a website for the Spider.

    Maybe they’ll have to rename the city ‘Se-aaaaagh it’s a spider-tle!

  • World’s Biggest Fork, Fairview, Oregon

    The picturesque Portland suburb of Fairview cutlery-cently welcomed an enormous fork that, at 37 feet from gleaming handle to quad-pronged bottom, is the very largest on Earth. Yes, Fairview has always been a knife town to visit, but now it’s the plates to be!

    It’s even larger than Australia’s most massive forks, so just imagine the size of the potatoes you could skewer with it. Although I wouldn’t want to be tasked with doing the dishes afterwards!

    Despite being truly colossal, the silver stunner has un-fork-tunately been relegated to the furthest reaches of the cutlery drawer that is East Portland, far from Harvey the Rabbit and Paul Bunyan.

    Apparently there’s a food market next to it sometimes, with disappointingly normal-sized produce for sale. When I visited, however, the place was barren and windswept, with barely a dozen well-wishers admiring the Big Fork.

    I guess the local council didn’t want to fork out for more expensive real estate.

    A forks to be reckoned with

    Why a fork, you ask? Over to you, eccentric local mayor, Brian Cooper!

    “So, the fork came about because we wanted something on the corner, whether it was a water tower or a windmill or some sort of piece that’s going to be on the corner, and then one of the design teams said, let’s just put a fork here and we’ll come back to it,” Brian explained to an exasperated reporter from KATU-TV.

    “Over the course of a couple months, it just kind of stuck in the brain. And you can come up with an entire marketing scheme of ‘Take a left at the fork,’ ‘The Fork in Fairview.’”

    Fairview has done just that, rebranding themselves as Forktown, USA. Fork enthusiasts from across the globe descend on this charming suburb to worship their most beloved utensil.

    They’re often pleasantly surprised to discover it’s larger than they’d imagined, which is always a pleasant experience.

    “The stainless steel fork is actually 40 feet tall,” blabbered Ken Fehringer from P&C Construction, “but its four tines will pierce the ground by about three feet. The fork has a large F stamped into its handle. Whether that stands for food, fork, or Fairview is up to the beholder.”

    If I was a lesser-mannered individual I’d suggest it stands for ‘F’n huge’, but I’m not crass so let’s just go with ‘fabulous’.

    Taking the spring out of Springfield

    As the good people of Fairview dance in the streets, basking in the glow of their record-busting scrap of metal, the warm-hearted forks – sorry, make that folks – of Springfield, Missouri have been plunged into a desolate depression from which they may never emerge.

    That’s because the pride of their town is a 35-foot-tall fork that was, until recently, the largest in the world. A huge fork, by any means, but no longer the grandest on the planet – and that means everything to the Americans.

    Springfield, Missouri has dropped out of most lists of top 10 US holiday destinations. The direct flights from San Forkcisco, the Forkland Islands and New Fork City have been reduced to just four or five a week.

    Even the gift shop is facing forklosure.

    Their Fork, which once drew crowds so large they would stop traffic, is now surprisingly easy to take a photo with. If you do, suggest rolling up and pretending to be a meatball!

    But that’s just the circle of life when it comes to oversized roadside attractions. They grow, capture the world’s imagination, then fade away into the background as the next Big Thing comes along.

    My suggestion to the people of Springfield is that they build a really big spoon, just to stir things up!

  • Harvey the Rabbit, Aloha, Oregon

    Harvey the Rabbit, Aloha, Oregon, United States of America

    For more than half a century, Harvey the Rabbit has brought love and laughter to the good people of West Portland. The quirky 25-foot-tall bunny stands merrily beside the Tualitin Valley Highway in scenic Aloha, offering a big wave and a warm grin to generations of Oregonians.

    Most pass by, honk, and think no more of the brief encounter. But those brief moments are all that keep Harvey standing.

    To spend time with Harvey – I mean really spend time with him – is to discover that this bunny’s smile is merely painted on. Behind the gaudy clothing and outrageous whiskers is a thoughtful, if deeply troubled, individual with a traumatic past and a poet’s soul.

    Harvey’s been tortured, abused, abandoned, and felt the crushing weight of hatred and prejudice. He’s survived a brutal sexual assault that would bring most roadside attractions to their knees. Yet even as the world crumbles around him, Harvey, putting the happiness of those passing by before his own needs, keeps up the façade.

    And now it’s time for the true horror of Harvey’s life to be cast into the Oregon sun.

    Species dysphoria blues

    Harvey started life not as a rabbit, but as a man. He was originally one of around 300 Big Friends created to stand proudly in front of Texaco gas stations. From a young age he felt uncomfortable with his identity, as if he’d been born into the wrong fibreglass body. To this day, Harvey dislikes talking about this part of his life, and refuses to reveal what his ‘dead name’ was.

    “That man with the hat and the eyebrows has been dead a long time,” Harvey told me in an honest and wide-ranging interview. “Deep down, I always knew I was different from the other Big Friends. I’d look at my reflection in car windows and think, ‘Where are my pointy ears and fluffy tail? But it wasn’t easy to be yourself back in the 1960s. I was filled with inner turmoil. A tsunami of self-hatred raged within me.”

    In 1962, the winds of change blew through Oregon. A massive storm brutalised the ‘old Harvey’ and sent him careening upon a journey of self-acceptance. The statue’s owner took his broken Big Thing to Harvey Marine for repair, leaving him with owner Ed Harvey as he stepped out for ‘a pack of cigarettes’.

    He never returned.

    “The storm broke my head in half,” Harvey lamented, ” but my father abandoning me broke my soul in half. I gave up on life for a while after that.”

    Harvey lay amongst the verdant Portland grass for more than a decade, peeling in the sun, forgotten and neglected. The few bright spots in his mundane existence came when Ed would take him to a nearby lake to use him as a boat. Harvey, craving any kind of acknowledgement, simply went along with this deplorable act of emotional manipulation.

    Man, I feel like a rabbit

    During the free-lovin’ summer of 1974, Ed Harvey became obsessed with a movie about a giant invisible rabbit named Harvey and, late one night, decided to make his own. It was 1974, after all.
    Ed crafted a monstrous bunny-head out of fibreglass and plonked it atop the Big Friends’ broad shoulders, then erected him outside his shop.

    The response was immediate, with thousands of fanatical supporters enthusiastically honking their horns as they drove past. Love letters poured in, and it was common for bouquets of roses and boxes of chocolates to be found at Harvey’s oversized feet.

    Harvey, finally, seemed to have found the love he so craved.

    “I waved at 10,000 motorists a day, and 10,000 motorists waved right back at me,” Harvey enthused. “People travelled from around the world to meet me. I had my photo taken with the Beatles, Muhammad Ali and Elvis Presley. I was even engaged to Farrah Fawcett for a few weeks, until she sobered up. It was good, man, it was good.”

    There’s nothing bunny about what happened next

    The good times, unfortunately, were short-lived. Harvey, as a trans-specied rabbit in a predominately white, heterosexual neighbourhood, was the target of disgusting bigotry. His fingers were broken off. His ears were stolen. And then the unthinkable happened.

    During a cold, moonless evening in the mid-90s, a gang of depraved perverts descended upon Harvey. Not prone to prejudice, Harvey greeted them with his customary smile and wave, but the creeps wanted something more. They wanted Harvey’s innocence.

    The particulars of this deranged encounter have, thankfully, been lost to the ravages of time. Harvey acknowledges that something happened but, understandably, does not want to relive the darkest period of his life. All we know is that when Ed arrived at work the next day, a grotesquely oversized phallus had been attached to poor Harvey.

    “Yeah, they stuck a big penis on him,” Ed’s son told a media scrum at the time. The quote made headlines around the world.

    Ed and his family were physically sickened by what they saw. Portland was shocked, with a slow procession of cars passing by to honk solemnly. Harvey, of course, went right on smiling as his whole world fell apart.

    Down the rabbit hole

    Harvey’s life spiralled out of control. He was used by the FBI as a meeting place for informers. He underwent extensive plastic surgery to radically alter his appearance, as if distancing himself from the lacerations of his past.

    “With my physical limitations, I wasn’t able to look in a mirror – and I doubt there’s one big enough, anyway,” Harvey trembled. “But if I had been able to, I wouldn’t have liked what I saw. I wanted to erase any trace of my former self.”

    Portlanders turned their attention to alternative rock and craft beer. The number of honks decreased into nothingness. Ed Harvey passed away in 2017, and Harvey Marine closed its doors for the final time. The giant rabbit was discarded once again. He now stands beside an empty building, promoting nothing, beaten by time and the relentless Oregon rain.

    Despite the horror show of his life, Harvey is still an impressive specimen. He’s incredibly quirky and distinctive, and his size induces a real sense of awe – much like the nearby Paul Bunyan. The giant bunny’s a work of art by any definition, an icon, a part of the region’s rich history. He’s fun to take photos with, and as welcoming as any Big you’ll ever find. He can even be quite playful and cheeky if caught on the right day.

    Just understand that this is one Big Thing who has been through hell and has the scars to prove it.

    Don’t worry, be hoppy

    Knowing our time together was coming to an end, Harvey and I stood in silent unison for the longest time. The only sound was the beating of our hearts and the occasional honk from a disinterested local. I tried to find the right words but, for once, they wouldn’t come.

    “You know, Harvey,” I stumbled, “it’s going to get easier.”
    Harvey stood there in the mist, waved at a passing SUV, did his best to hide the single tear that rolled down his plump cheek. “No,” he replied sadly, “it won’t.”

    I patted Harvey on his muscular calf, gave him a sad smile of understanding, and walked away forever.

  • Howie the Turtle, Oak Park, California

    Howie the Turtle, Oak Park, California

    McLatchy Park, home to a happy-go-lucky turtle and a rag-tag selection of oversized fruit and junk food, seems like the happiest place on Earth. It’s hard to imagine that this tranquil slice of Californian suburbia was the site of one of history’s most tragic events.

    Joyland Amusement Park opened to a flabbergasted public in 1913, boasting a giant racer, swimming baths, and a zoo. There was even a turtle named Howie, who provided much joy to the people of Sacramento until perishing from loneliness in early 1914.

    Men, women and children would ride the streetcars to the park on Sac’s outskirts, looking to escape the crushing banality of a world before the Big Bike and Big Hands were around to amuse them. Then, in 1920, fire tore through the park, destroying the rides and wiping out many of the remaining animals.

    Howie, it seems, had the best of it.

    Guess who’s back, back again?
    Howie’s back, tell a friend!

    The charred remains of the fair were purchased by a Mr Valentine McClatchy, who named it James McClatchy Park after his father. At the time of publishing, I’ve been unable to confirm whether the ‘Park’ bit is because it was a park, or whether his father was actually named James McClatchy-Park.

    It was soon gifted to the city and turned into public recreation grounds. The current-day playground was installed a few years ago, with its design heavily inspired by history. The slide looks like a rollercoaster, there’s a huge box of popcorn… and there’s even a turtle.

    A century since his passing, Howie is back to charm and enthral the people of Sacramento with his cheeky grin and oddball personality. Though slightly smaller than his Aussie cousin Colin, this turtle has won the hearts of a new generation of thrillseekers.

    And the best news is that this is one turtle unlikely to die of depression, because children (and grown men who act like children) are constantly climbing on him. McLatchy Park is, finally, the very happiest place on Earth once more.

  • King Kamehameha, Hilo, Hawai’i

    King Kamehameha statue, Hilo, Hawai'i

    Kamehameha the Great united the warring islands of Hawaii in 1810, bringing a new age of peace and prosperity to this tropical paradise.

    The inimitable Bigs Bardot united the world’s Big Things and roadside attractions under one website in 2021, bringing love and happiness and greater awareness of roadside attractions to every corner of the world (yes, even Нады́м, Россия – did you think I forgot about you, Yevgeny?).

    Finally, in an event celebrated from Hilo to Honolulu, these icons met. Two kings, separated by centuries, ruling over their subordinates with brutal yet mostly fair fists.

    Hail to the King, baby

    The 14-foot-tall tribute to the Great One lives in the well-presented Wailoa River State Park, and is one of four similar statues scattered throughout the United States. There’s one in Honolulu, another in Kohala, and a third all the way over in Washington, DC. I certainly hope that one’s got a jumper!

    This version, just outside Hilo’s quirky downtown is, however, by far the tallest – and boasts a most peculiar history. He was sculpted in Vicenza, Italy, way back in 1963, but wasn’t erected until 1997. The nearby isle of Kaua’i was intended to be his forever home but, astonishingly, the locals violently protested his arrival as the real-life King had never actually conquered their home.

    I suppose, sadly, xenophobia is alive and well in Kaua’i.

    But this tale has a happy ending. The statue was handed over to the the people of the Big Island of Hawai’i, the real King’s home. He was carefully placed in front of the splendid Wailoa fish pond, where Kamehameha had often fished for ‘ono and diligently perfected his hip hop dance manoeuvres.

  • Peace, Sacramento, California

    Peace statue, Sacramento, California, United StatesBy Stephen J. Kaltenbach

    Give peace a chance… or should that be give peace a HANDS. This massive set of mitts was created by the ever-talented Stephen Kaltenbach, and can be found right near the State Capitol in downtown Sac.

    When the world needed a hero, Steve was there to lend a hand, knuckling down to bring Sacramentonians a message of glove and harmony. The results, as you can see, are simply irre-wrist-ible.

    Thumbing his nose at bigots, haters and other ne’er-do-wells, Steve hopes his statue – known simply as Peace – will teach us to hold each other a little tighter, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation or the fact they’ve decided to dedicate their life to tracking down Big Things, rather than getting a job and a girlfriend and moving out of the spare bedroom. Do you hear that, Mum?

    Peace brought a new era of goodwill to Sacramento – and the United States as a whole – in 2006, and was soon joined by A Life’s Ride. The piece was surely inspired by another influential set of digits, La Mano in Punta del Este. Steve, however, palms off comments his work is a copy.

    Steve’s also responsible for a woman’s severed head just up the road. Of course I mean a statue of a woman’s severed head – known as Matter Contemplates Spirit. As far as I’m aware he’s never decapitated anyone, male, female or other.

    I can’t shake the feeling that, no matter what he tries his hand at, Steve makes a real fist of it!

  • Cupid’s Span, San Francisco, California

    Cupid's Span, San Francisco, California, United States of America

    Many a tourist has left their heart in San Francisco, so of course there’s a Big Thing dedicated to love and romance right next to the Bay Bridge.

    Created by lovers Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen in 2002 and measuring an un-bow-lievable 18 metres from tip to amorous tip, Cupid’s Span quickly surpassed the Golden Gate Bridge as the bay city’s most photographed landmark.

    It’s common to see clusters of curious Korean tourists quivering with excitement as they pose in front of the monument. It’s said that anyone who touches the arrow will soon find their bow-loved – or at least some no-strings-attached fun.

    Cupid’s massive tool was made from fibreglass and steel for an undisclosed cost – so I assume it was quite ex-span-sive. According to the artists, the tip of the projectile plunges into the fertile Californian soil to defunctionalise the weapon, positioning it as a symbol of peace and hope.

    If you don’t understand Claes and Cass, then you need to stop being so arrow-minded!

    Cupid is as Cupid does

    A visit to Cupid’s Span elicits memories of a slightly smaller, yet no less beloved, bow and arrow set in another of the world’s most popular tourist destinations, Lake Cathie. Yet those responsible want to point out theirs is no nock-off.

    “Arriving at San Francisco airport, one is greeted with a recording by Mayor Willie Brown, which extols the city as a place with heart,” the artists explained after several critics claimed they’d missed the mark. “Countless songs and stories celebrate San Francisco as the realm of love.”

    Yes, that might sound like a load of bullseye, but let’s go with it.

    Sadly, Cupid’s arrow didn’t fly straight for me during my trip to San Fran, with my date with Yahoo programming wunderkind/Starbucks barista Devon failing to yield the lifelong love and companionship I yearn for.

    Still, the clam chowder was delightful and the disco I attended in the Castro afterwards taught me several valuable life lessons that I’ll be discussing with my therapist for years.

  • The Big Crab, San Francisco, California

    The Big Crab, San Francisco, CaliforniaFisherman's Wharf

    “(Sittin’ With) the Crab for the Day”

    Sittin’ in the San Fran sun
    The Crab’ll be snippin’ when the evenin’ comes
    Watching Bigs Bardot roll in
    Then he’ll make an excuse and scuttle away forever, yeah

    I’m sittin’ with the Crab for the day
    Wondering which way he sways, ooh
    Because it’s scientifically proven crabs can be gay
    Crustacean time!

    I left my home in Gosford
    Headed for the Frisco Bay
    ‘Cause I’ve had everythin’ to live for
    As there’s a Big Thing to visit every day

    So I’m just gon’ sit with the Crab for the day
    Watchin’ the way his his cephalothorax sways, ooh
    Shopping at the The Wharf Store is a good way to save
    Crustacean time!

    My obsession with the Big Crab may seem strange
    But trust me when I say I am sane
    I want him to pinch my bum even when I say not to
    But he doesn’t want to play that game, no

    The poor ol’ Big Crab has no bones
    Without him I fear I’ll die alone, listen
    I’m 20,000 miles from home
    Kissing a crab statue highlighted in chrome

    Now I’m just gon’ sit with my beloved Crab for a day
    Until he inevitably scurries away, ooh yeah
    Why will nobody I love stay
    My whole life has been a waste of time