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Back in the declining years of the disco decade, Mayor Goodman was at his desk one afternoon, hoppin’ mad.  He was tired of seeing the tax base in Fort Stockton dwindle while other parts of Texas were capitalizing on the Lone Star state’s climate and creativity, drawing tourists in from far flung places as far  as California and Connecticut.  “We need those tourist dollars, damn it!” he shouted to no one in particular.  Wanda, his secretary and Supervisor of Animal Services disregarded the rant, her nose firmly planted in the June PLAYGIRL that had arrived that morning.

Nobody remembers exactly how the idea came about, nor whether the PLAYGIRL or Wanda’s position in Animal Services had anything to do with it, though the Mayor’s fingerprints were all over the idea. Fort Stockton would offer the only bullfights to be seen anywhere outside Spain.  

A grand arena was quickly erected on a large plot of land the city had condemned across from the Travis & Crockett Rest Stop just outside of town.  A lot of locals got behind the idea.  Mayor Goodman even drove to Marfa and traded in his city provided Chevy Malibu on a ’78 AMC Matador Barcelona Sedan to play up the Spanish end of things.  Both the Mayor and his new Barcelona had a noticeably prodigious proboscis.  The Sand Tan and Golden Ginger combo on the Matador was perfect for the posters they had made featuring the Mayor parked in front of the arena, leaning on the front fender, the caption underneath reading, “Fights at the Fort.  No More Bull Anywhere in Texas!”

The arena itself was pretty unusual.  Because funds for such an extravagant arena were certainly not in the budget, it was constructed mostly out of portable panels of 2X4s and corrugated tin under the direction of Binderman over at the shop class of Jim Bowie High School, and then painted to look like the Roman Colosseum by a group of ambitious students from the Sophomore History class that needed extra credit.  Sure, it probably violated a few building codes, but damned if it wasn’t up and ready for the first set bulls

It made for a big success at first.  The marching band over at Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern, The Trojan Tones,  all donned red capes and worked out a routine where they formed the outline of a giant bull on the field at halftime.  The huge kettledrums were even painted brown and placed under the tail of the bull for emphasis, but only those sitting in the Press Box were high enough to see the full effect and appreciate the significance.

Of course, Rusty over at the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store and Mayor Goodman figured out a way to make a little “extra” profit on the side.  The mayor granted Rusty exclusive rights to all the manure that built up over time in the pens just south of the arena.  Rusty worked a deal with the football coach from JBHS for any players that missed practice to come over and bag it, then it would be sold out in the parking lot of the hardware store.  Folks over at the Piggly Wiggly noted it wasn’t the first time the mayor had lined his pockets pushing bullshit.

The Mayor’s Barcelona was given the prime parking space right at the entrance to the arena.  Visiting bullfighters were provided the use of a slightly used Granada from the used car lot of Frontier Ford, playing up on the whole European slant on the sport.

A reporter from the Houston Chronicle came out and did a write-up on the opening, spending two days in Fort Stockton and interviewing a lot of townsfolk.  The end of the first day he stopped in the Valentine Diner, just down from the arena, and was treated to the tender specialty of the day, a dish he didn’t recognize but quickly grew to enjoy.  When asked what it was, Viola told him that he was enjoying “Rocky Mountain Oysters”, a treat provided unwillingly by the bull who’d lost the fight the day before.

Initially put off by the idea, he quickly came to appreciate the delicacy and went back the next day on his way out of town for one more try.  He was disappointed that the helping was so much smaller than the day before.  “The bull won yesterday,” Viola had to tell him.

Texas Monthly eventually ended up doing a big spread on the whole operation, which was the beginning of the end.  Not everyone, it seems, appreciated the sport.  Its popularity probably peaked when Hemingway did.  Animal Rights groups protested outside the arena, some even painting slurs on the Mayor’s Matador, which really gored his ox.

I don’t think this one could be the Mayor’s old Barcelona, though I hope the new owner steers clear of bullfighting.  Don’t ignore the red flags.

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