Back in the early summer of ’54 a guy came through town driving a Chevrolet two door sedan in these exact colors. Both he and the car seemed to reflect a sense of optimism. There’s no way to look at the combination of cream and green and think your best days still lie ahead.

He was only in Fort Stockton less than a week, said he had business in Houston. He stayed at the Cattle Baron Hotel and took most of his meals in the restaurant just off the grand lobby. His disposition was like his Bel Air, sunny and agreeable.

His third day in town he was at the Rexall Drug picking up some personal items. Aqua Velva. Barbasol. Gillette double edged razor blades. He found himself in line to check out right behind Mayor Goodman.

A stranger sticks out like a turd in the punch bowl here in Fort Stockton, so the mayor tried to make friendly and be welcoming. “You in town long?”

“Just passing through.”

“How do you find our fair berg?” the mayor inquired.

“Seems very nice. I just thought it would be more patriotic.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s just that most of the other towns in Texas that I’ve passed through are decorated for the 4th of July. You wouldn’t know it’s only a week away here in your town.”

Concerned, Mayor Goodman asked him what the other towns were doing. He learned that Midland and Amarillo were both covered in American flags. Thousands of them. Every shop, school, and home had at least one flying out front. Even Marfa had gotten into the act, and they just got their own post office last year.

“Must not be many veterans in town.” the stranger shrugged.

“You kidding? Our VFW is the biggest one from San Antonio to Flagstaff.” the mayor touted.

“Must tear at their hearts to see the nation they fought for so taken for granted on Independence Day.”

The stranger tipped his hat and headed out to the Bel Air. He tossed the toiletries on to the green sofa-like seat and was about to slide behind the massive two-spoke wheel as the mayor came running out of the Rexall to catch him.

“Hey! You don’t happen to know where those other towns are getting those flags, do you?”

The hook had been set.

He took the mayor to the back of the Bel Air and opened up the massive trunk while softly whistling The Star Spangled Banner. Flags. Thousands of flags. All different sizes of the Stars and Stripes perfectly stacked in rows and columns. Rolls of red, white, and blue bunting were wedged in between the spare and the right rear fender. People walking by on their way to the Piggly Wiggly stopped and saluted.

When he checked out of the hotel the next morning, the trunk was empty. Two days later, Fort Stockton had never looked so festively patriotic. Mayor Goodman was a hero and made an honorary veteran.

They didn’t see the stranger again until 1959. Early November. He ran in to Pastor Bob at the cafe and mentioned he thought Fort Stockton was a more religious town that what it seemed to be. Turns out he had a trunk full of inflatable baby Jesus’ in the trunk of his Cadillac Sedan De Ville. Fort Stockton was well on its way to becoming known as the World’s Largest Manger.

God Bless America. And Chevrolet. And Cadillac. And the gift of marketing to the masses.