Tag: Portland

  • 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.

    The Old Harvey

    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.

  • Paul Bunyan, Portland, Oregon

    Paul Bunyan statue, Portland, Oregon

    Meet Paul. He’s an outdoorsy, approachable fellow who enjoys artisanal pale ales, daring facial hair and the smell of fresh flannelette in the morning. Oh, and he’s also a 31-foot-tall giant who brandishes a monstrous axe with which to protect the good people of the Pacific North West.

    All together now; “Hi, Paul!”

    The mythical Mr Bunyan is a hero to people across America and Canada, and his lumberjacking exploits have entered the realm of folklore. Together with his offsider Babe the Blue Ox, the wondrous woodsman is said to have cleared entire regions of trees in the most deplorable of conditions.

    I’m going to assume he doesn’t swap Christmas cards with too many environmentalists, then.

    Paul’s hardworking attitude and no-nonsense fashion style epitomise this stunning part of the world, and no visit to Oregon’s emerald hills is complete without seeing this enormous tribute to the hirsute heartbreaker.

    Paul’s a lumberjack and he’s OK

    Not surprisingly, there are dozens of Paul Bunyan statues scattered around North America. Rest assured, however, that this depiction of the big fella really is Bun in a million.

    The larger-than-life lumberjack was designed and installed by the Kenton Businessmen’s Club, taking pride of place in North Portland in 1959. He was unveiled to much fanfare as the centrepiece of Oregon’s centennial celebrations, and was apparently the subject of much attention from the port city’s single ladies.

    This handsome chap can be intimidating due to his immense size, but he’s a warm-hearted individual who greets thousands of Oregonians with a cheery smile each morning. I must admit I was in awe when I first saw him from a distance, peering through Portland’s leafy avenues.

    Who wouldn’t want to wake up to that smile!

    Even after visiting hundreds of humongous humanoids such as Big Joe and Wo-Man and The Big Gold Panner Man and Ernie and The Storyteller and The Big Knight and The Hardware Man and The Water Giver and The Big Girl and King Kamehameha and The Cootamundra Giant and the nearby Harvey the Half-Human-Half-Rabbit over the years, Paul’s scale was enough to take my breath away.

    What can I say, I have a thing for tall guys!

    If there’s something strange in your neighborhood
    Who you gonna call? Paul Bunyan!

    Portland’s in the grip of a disturbing rise in homelessness and crime at the moment, and sadly the area surrounding Paul can be a little dangerous. Be careful, because nothing ruins a date with a Big Thing like being violently robbed of your iPod Nano.

    When an unkempt dude in torn jeans and a filthy band t-shirt – who was either a crack-addled lunatic or a tech startup millionaire, it’s hard to tell them apart – stumbled over to scream obscenities during my photo shoot with Paul, everything told me to flee in tears.

    Instead I stood my ground, adjusted my scarlet tunic, and stared the fiend straight in the eyes.

    “Babe, if you’ve got a problem with me, you’ve got a problem with him,” I purred, as my bearded bodyguard peered over my shoulder. The street urchin looked at Paul with such reverence, such child-like wonder, that I clasped him to my bosom and assured him everything would be alright.

    Of course, when I swaggered off I realised he’d fleeced me of a crisp $20 bill and a collection of James Joyce short stories I’d been pretentiously reading in a coffee shop and had subsequently tucked safely in my back pocket.

    Oh well, it was a small price to pay for the honour of meeting Paul Bunyan!