Swiss electrical engineer Georges de Mestral would occasionally make his way across the pond to spend time with his old boyhood friend, Klaus, who had immigrated over from Switzerland and settled in town years earlier.

Klaus had decided on Fort Stockton due to the similar beautiful views as his former home, and the wide-ranging love of culture, just like the old country. The locals had taken him in as one of their own, mostly because of his accent, which they found amusing. The stories he would tell of youthful escapades back in Geneva would keep their rapt attention all night long at the Lucky Lady Lounge. The fact that he would usually pick up the bar tab also meant a lot.

No one was quite sure where he got his money, but he never seemed to be without. Some speculated that it was simply old European wealth, like royalty. There were rumors that it had been ill-gotten, but people looked the other way. After all, a lot of the fortunes made around Fort Stockton were made in oil, so who were they to judge?

Whenever Georges would come into town he’d stay for a few weeks in order to justify the long journey over and back. Besides, a few weeks in Fort Stockton seemed like a few months in other places.

They’d put a lot of miles on Klaus’ new ’49 Mercury taking in all the sights. The Mercury was, in fact, one of Klaus’ favorite parts of being an adopted American. Lima Tan Metallic oozes the essence of the American Dream. Wide white walls and rakish good looks were different from anything available back in war-torn Europe. The two toned dash and chrome wrapped gauges gave an appearance they could transport the passengers to a totally different time.

They’d take the Mercury Eight to the Piggly Wiggly so Georges could check out all the newest frozen food items that weren’t available back home. Of course, most evenings were spent drinking at the Lucky Lady. On Saturdays they would load up Sparky, Klaus’ big old sheepdog, stop at the Eggs & Ammo (Fort Stockton’s original convenience store) and stock up on bullets and beer and point the Mercury towards the hiking trails off the old blacktop road towards Alpine, while engaging in endless causerie.

This is where it got interesting. After a hike they would get back in the Mercury and their pants, socks, and just about all of Sparky’s legs would be covered in the sand burrs that grow wild in the area. The darn things spread faster than a rumor at a Baptist retreat. They’d be stuck to the carpet and green houndstooth seats of the Mercury, as well.

Whereas this would irritate most people, Georges saw opportunity. He packed dozens of the pesky barbed thorns in a jar and took them back home. After studying them closely under a microscope he discovered that each sticker was actually covered in dozens of ‘hooks’ which would latch on to certain surfaces, like Sparky’s feet or houndstooth upholstery.

And thus was hatched an idea that would change the world. He would patent the concept in 1955.

Folks in town speculated he named Velcro after his favorite barmaid at the Lucky Lady, Velma Cromwell. When asked, he always denied it and said the name was a combination of the French words ‘velours’ (meaning velvet) and ‘croche’ (meaning hook). Those who knew her well claimed that ‘velvet hook’ described Velma to a tee.

No doubt, it’s easy to get stuck on a Mercury like this one.