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Fort Stockton, Texas

Spring, 1976

There are years people remember because something extraordinary happened, and then there are years people remember because something extraordinary happened to someone they already knew.

The latter was always more dangerous.

Nobody in Fort Stockton ever expected Shania, wife of Brother Bob of Second Baptist Church, to become one of the most successful Mary Kay saleswomen in the entire American Southwest. If you had suggested such a thing over coffee at Dairy Twin in January of 1976, somebody would have laughed hard enough to spray syrup onto their eggs.

Then Hairless B29 would have leaned back in his booth and said something sensible.

“Never underestimate church ladies. They already know everybody’s business.”

At the time, however, nobody understood that he was accidentally predicting the future.

Second Baptist was struggling.

Not catastrophically struggling, because Baptists had developed a remarkable ability over the centuries to survive financial hardship through equal parts faith, coffee, and folding chairs. But there was an undeniable softness creeping into the offering plates every Sunday morning.

Brother Bob had begun noticing it first.

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He’d carry the metal plates back to his office after church and gently pour their contents onto his desk. There would be a few twenties, several fives, a mountain of ones, and enough loose change to embarrass an arcade owner.

He’d sit there in silence listening to the air conditioner rattle while the sounds of people socializing drifted down the hallway.

The church smelled exactly like every Baptist church in Texas smelled in 1976.

Old hymnals.

Old English Furniture Polish.

Coffee.

And whatever mysterious chemical substance existed inside every church basement since the Eisenhower administration.

He hated worrying about money.

He especially hated worrying about money because worrying about money made him feel unspiritual.

Unfortunately, air conditioners, roofs, and Vacation Bible School didn’t accept spirituality as legal tender.  Not to mention the impact reduced giving had on his own finances at home.  He had already canceled his subscription to Pews & Perils, the monthly publication devoted to writing hour-long sermons, navigating awkward greeting times, and making sure parishioners avoided the pastor’s special parking spot.

One evening he sat at the kitchen table staring at the ledger while his wife stood at the counter preparing meatloaf, working additional crushed Saltine crackers into the hamburger to make it stretch a little farther.

The house itself was modest and comfortable, a monument to West Texas parsonages of the time.

Avocado appliances.

Faux butcher block Formica countertops.

A yellow rotary phone hanging on the wall.

The six o’clock news murmuring softly from the living room, something about the election and Ford and Carter running neck and neck.

Shania watched him for a while before speaking.

“You’ve got that face again.”

Brother Bob looked up.

“What face?”

“The one that says you’re trying to carry the entire world by yourself.”

He sighed.

“We’re four hundred dollars short this month.”

She nodded.

“I know.”

“We may have to shorten Vacation Bible School from a full week to just a couple afternoons.”

Shania stopped what she was doing.

Now, there were two kinds of people in Fort Stockton.

There were people who reacted emotionally.

Then there were people like Shania.

People who reacted strategically.

The difference was important.

Strategic people didn’t panic. They quietly identified solutions while everybody else was still discussing the problem.  She wiped her hands on a dish towel.

“I’m going to start selling Mary Kay.”

Brother Bob blinked.

“The lipstick people?”

She smiled.

“The lipstick people.”

He scratched his head.

“Will that actually help?”

She opened the refrigerator.

“It’ll help because I’m going to sell it exactly the way you sell religion.”

He stared.

She closed the refrigerator door.

“I’m serious.”  She pointed at him.  “You walk into a room and convince people they’re participating in something larger than themselves.”

Then she pointed at herself.  “I’m going to do the same thing.”

At first, Brother Bob thought she was joking.

By Wednesday he realized she absolutely was not.

The first party took place at Sister Ethel Mae Simmons’ house.

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Twenty women sat on floral couches balancing tiny paper plates of cheese cubes and celery sticks stuffed with pimento cheese while Shania arranged products atop a card table.

She had transformed.

Not physically.

Strategically.

Her voice carried a certain authority now.

Not loud.

Not theatrical.

Just utterly convinced of itself.

She held up a tube of lipstick.

“Ladies, let me ask you something.”

Everyone turned.

“When did we collectively decide we were going to surrender?”

Nobody answered.

She paced.

“When did we decide dry skin was acceptable?”

The room was silent.

“When did we decide wrinkles were inevitable?”

Several women shifted in their seats.  She leaned closer.  “We’re West Texas women.”

A few nodded.

“We survive dust storms.”

More nods.

“We survive one hundred and nine degree temperatures.”

Agreement spread.

“We survive husbands who buy fishing equipment they absolutely do not need.”  Now there was laughter.  “So why…”  She raised the lipstick.  “…are we losing the battle to our elbows?”

That did it.

People were hooked.

Shania possessed a gift.

She wasn’t selling cosmetics.

She was selling morale.

Women left those gatherings walking taller.

“Jimmy Carter said in that godforsaken magazine PLAYBOY that he actually lusted after women in his heart.  And he’s BAPTIST!  If they’re going to lust in the hearts, anyway, we may as well make it worth their effort.”  The icing of humor topped a cake of intention that Mary Kay was baking in the oven.

They’d stop by Piggly Wiggly and wave at each other.

They’d compare lipsticks beside the canned vegetables.

They’d discuss moisturizers near the frozen peas.

An entire social ecosystem quietly materialized.

Then something else happened.

Fort Stockton began talking.

That was always dangerous.

Fort Stockton could spread information faster than a modern fiber optic network if properly motivated.  nothing motivated the women of Fort Stockton in 1976 more than skincare, cosmetics, and body care.

A rumor could leave Dairy Twin at 7:15 and arrive at the Lucky Lady by 7:23.

By noon, people in Pecos somehow knew.

Within six months, women were driving from Midland, Odessa, Monahans, Alpine, and even El Paso.

Nobody quite understood why.

Maybe people simply wanted to be around someone enthusiastic about life.

That was becoming increasingly rare even then.

Shania developed sayings.

People began repeating them.

“Your elbows are your responsibility.”

“Moisturize without compromise.”

“Never let despair live in your medicine cabinet.”

Then she created the one that made her famous.

“Jesus loves you exactly as you are. But if we’re being practical, your skin could use a little attention.”

That sentence alone sold several hundred dollars’ worth of product.

Eventually, Mary Kay corporate took notice.

Then Texas took notice.

Then Arizona.

Then New Mexico.

Then Oklahoma.

The phone began ringing constantly.

By 1977, she had become the top Mary Kay representative in the entire Southwest Region.

The award ceremony took place in Dallas.  At a new Hyatt Hotel covered in mirrored panels on the edge of downtown that reflected Dealey Plaza, the site of the Kennedy assassination, and more than nine hundred women painted in varying shades of pink and self-promotion.

Brother Bob wore his best suit.

Shania wore white.

People applauded.

Photographers flashed bulbs.

Then the curtains opened.

Fort Stockton had never seen anything like it.

There sat the largest pink automobile anyone had ever imagined.

It was absurd.

Magnificent.

A rolling contradiction.

A nineteen-foot declaration that optimism still existed.

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The pink 1976 Lincoln Continental Coupe practically glowed beneath the ballroom lights.

Pink paint.

White vinyl roof.

Chrome everywhere.

Whitewall tires.

Red interior.

A gigantic hood ornament leading the way into the future.

Brother Bob simply whispered…

“Good heavens.”

Then he laughed.

The thing looked impossible.

Like a wedding cake had joined the Rotary Club.

Shania climbed inside.  The red button-tufted seats looked like expensive furniture.  The Cartier clock quietly ticked.  Cold air poured from the vents.  The 460 cubic inch V8 awakened with a deep, civilized rumble that spoke of unsubtle sales techniques and oil-free makeup remover.

The Lincoln wasn’t fast.

Fast wasn’t the point.

The Lincoln existed to arrive.

Power steering meant she could guide all 5,300 pounds with one finger.

Cruise control meant she could glide effortlessly down Highway 285 while listening to Glen Campbell and Dolly Parton on eight-track.

People later claimed they could hear Rhinestone Cowboy from two blocks away.

Nobody ever disproved it.

Fort Stockton immediately fell in love.

You didn’t simply see the Pink Lincoln.

You experienced it.

Children waved.

Teenagers stopped talking.

Dogs barked.

Old men straightened their hats.

It became a daily ritual.

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Every afternoon around four-thirty she’d roll down Dickinson Boulevard at a stately eighteen miles an hour.

The air conditioner running.

The hood ornament leading the charge.

The enormous V8 barely audible beneath the whisper of whitewall tires.

People would stop and smile without entirely understanding why.

Maybe because the car represented something rare.

Not wealth.

Not success.

Possibility.

Fort Stockton wasn’t accustomed to seeing possibility driving around in broad daylight.

Brother Bob eventually began riding shotgun.

One afternoon he looked over and said, “You know, this is all because of body balm.”

Shania laughed.

“No.”

He smiled.

“It’s because you made people feel better.”

That was the secret.

Not cosmetics.

Not cars.

Not awards.

People were hungry for encouragement.  Fort Stockton had always contained good people.  But sometimes good people forgot they were allowed to enjoy themselves.

Shania reminded them.

Years later, whenever old-timers gathered at Grounds for Divorce or the Dairy Twin, someone would eventually say…

“Remember Shania’s pink Lincoln?”

Everyone smiled.

Then they’d remember the details.

The way it smelled inside.

Cold air and perfume.

The way the hood stretched halfway to Odessa.

The way the Cartier clock quietly ticked while Glen Campbell played.

The way that ridiculous automobile somehow made an entire town happier.

And eventually someone would say what everybody was secretly thinking.

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“It wasn’t really about the car.”

Then Hairless B29 would stir his coffee.

“Nope.”

He’d grin.

“It was about somebody deciding Fort Stockton deserved a little more joy than it was getting.”

Then he’d take another sip.

“Besides…”

He’d smile.

“That Lincoln was so long it practically needed its own ZIP code.”

And the whole diner would erupt with laughter all over again.

And they’d talk about how giving rose at Second Baptist the following year. The women looked a shade or two more glamorous than they had the year before, but more importantly, they looked happier. Their husbands noticed. Men have always noticed such things. A woman who carries herself with confidence changes the temperature of a room without ever saying a word. And households that feel a little lighter, a little happier, and a little more connected tend to become more generous places. Brother Bob discovered that people who feel hopeful often become people who are willing to give.

It’s biblical.  And so is supporting the faith.  And Brother Bob gained a whole new confidence in asking an audience who was slightly more attractive and a lot more satisfied.

That’s how folklore works. You start with lipstick and accidentally create a legend. That legend creates confidence. Confidence creates generosity. Generosity repairs roofs, replaces hymnals, and occasionally puts an absurdly beautiful pink Lincoln Continental in front of a Baptist church in West Texas.

And fifty years later people still smile every time they see the color pink.

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