It was a typical smoldering
hot summer day in Freeport, Texas the first time I saw him. John Taylor
and I were on a futile search to quell his vegetarian cravings when the
gray and blue cruiser came into view. "What the?" My jaw dropped. "What
IS that?"
"Nah man, he's pretty cool."
John looked straight ahead, unfazed by the stuffed animals peering at us
from the windows like mute prisoners and the green carpet, dilapidated
lawn mower, and plastic duck on top of the vehicle.
From John's reaction, I
figured the guy must have been some long-lost relative or worse- maybe
even his father. I dropped the subject, but wondered about the strange
encounter.
After several more sightings
of the vehicle simply know around town as the "bat mobile" and receiving
no satisfactory answers to my inquiries about it, I knew I had to investigate
for myself. I had heard that he had a building that covered almost an entire
block in downtown Freeport- a Batcave if you will. I set out with only
a camera and my five year old son, determined to unravel the mystery behind
Freeport's batman.
I could hardly believe my
eyes as we rounded the corner in downtown Freeport . There it was- the
Batwing Mower complex. I wheeled the car into a parking lot across the
street, let my son out and began taking pictures. This was too good to
be true. At least a dozen nations were represented by flags flying from
the roof. "City and Port of Destiny" was written on a sign high above the
street. "Bat-wing bomber" was written on the outside of the garage. Was
some sort of evil genius holed up inside? Was he building some sort of
weapon of mass destruction? The car and a trailer were parked out front,
so I figured the answers were inside.
Questions whirled through my mind at a dizzying rate as I approached the place: B-2 bomber? "27" cut? International? World-wide? Plastic? The future?" Was this some kind of obscene cult? Did whoever- or whatever- resided in the place have outposts in all the countries represented by the flags? I pressed on...
Was there really a plastic B-2 stealth bomber inside the place? Was it some kind of government cover-up that would make Roswell look like...well, was it LA-LA land?
And the car. What kind of demented mind could come up with such a ride? Or was this guy truly a genius? I had to know...
And the bears...in permanent bondage in the back seat...their eyes devoid of hope. Were they released at night to do some evil monster's bidding? Who- or what- could hurt a teddy bear?
"Please...please..let me out...unravel our mystery," I heard- no felt - the panda say.
A closer inspection of the roof decoration revealed that this might even be worse than I thought. This was no lawn mower! This was some perverted device for torturing innocent stuffed animals. Could it be? An international cult devoted to the kidnapping, bondage, and mutilation of innocent toy creatures? Whatever it was, I didn't like it...
Being patented? What? Could one really get a patent on such a treacherous device? Then a clue- devil horns on the back window. Was I treading on the threshold of the lair of Asmodeus himself? My very soul shivered. Too petrified to move, my son summoned the courage to ring the doorbell. The door opened on its on...I was truly terrified, but I knew that I must know the truth- I knew I had to let the world know... We entered the place.
A small bear sat behind the desk in the foyer. I cleared my throat..."Uh, are you in charge here?" No answer. "Umm, where is your master?" Still no answer. Maybe he was the CEO. Then he entered! An older gentlemen in a bathrobe appeared from the back room. "I'm Brad. Brad Wurm. Glad to meet you." I extended my hand. He did not introduce himself, but gave me a friendly smile nonetheless. "I was just intrigued by your place here...all the animals and everything." The man chuckled.
"Yeah, it's all about advertising," he said. "Let me show you the place." He led us through a small doorway into the "batcave" portion of the complex. My pulse quickened. The stranger simultaneously indoctrinated me with the gospel of plastics. He had been working with plastics for forty years and they could be used for almost anything.
I was amazed as we entered
the dank, cavernous warehouse area. It was like walking into Willy Wonka's
Chocolate factory, except without the chocolate and in place of the magic
stuff, candy, and Umpa Loompas, there was a bunch of worn-out yard tools
and farming implements, and no magic stuff. The man's eyes gleamed as he
went on about the potential of replacing everything from lawn mower parts
to cars with plastic. His creativity and depth of knowledge about the subject
amazed me. Plastic WAS the answer to just about everything.
I listened in amazement as the man explained to me his vision for a plastic world. Against one wall were three of his prized models. Where the average, untrained mind sees a few pieces of wood clumsily tacked together with folding chairs as seats and bicycle wheels, Mr. Batwing sees a plastic car. Where you or I might see a thirty-year old, ten speed bike with flat tires, this visionary sees a plastic motor bike, capable of getting 300 miles/gallon. We may see an ordinary golf cart, but he sees one made of plastic and full of potential.
The crown jewel of the Bat-wing collection was a fiberglass- er, plastic- boat that would make Adam West green with envy.
My host introduced me to his second passion- grass cutting. "With my technology, I could cut 90% of the grass in the world. Think about India. Think about China. They all have grass and it grows all the time." Try as I might, I could not refute his logic. He even showed me lawn mowers that mowed by themselves. "I think of doing things the easy way. You could set in a lawn chair and watch this thing mow for you. Before you know it. It's done. See, it's all about recognizing the need and meeting the need," he explained. Come to think of it, I really WOULD like a lawnmower that did the work for me.
The back corner of the warehouse contained what was, to me, the most amazing part of the place- the Bat Wing Diner. Here, everything was- or at least could be- made of plastic.
The man explained to me his vision of creating portable plastic diners then sending them anywhere in the world at a moment's notice. "There's a McDonald's on every corner. Why not a Bat Wing diner?" Why not indeed?
I could see what the man was talking about. The Bat Wing Diner even had an almost hypnotic effect on my son. I was just about to ask about franchising opportunities when I thought: "Wait....the food wouldn't be plastic, would it?" I asked the man. He just smiled and showed me a blueprint on the wall for future Bat Wing Diners.
After the grand tour we ended up in his thinking room. Now this room really did remind me of Wonka's "half- room" or whatever it was called. The walls were covered with names of famous people including George Patton and Emory Bellard. There were also pictures of my host on the wall. Pictures from when he was a football star simply known as "T" Jones. There were models of plastic buildings, plans for a drive through super market, and a marketing plan for cutting the grass of the entire civilized world. "I just need the capital and with the internet this thing can go world-wide just like that." I had come expecting to find some kind of freak or monster, but the man I discovered was more of misunderstood genius- a Minerver Cheevy in reverse- existing years- maybe centuries- before his time.
Still, one question remained
unanswered. "Mr. Jones, what's the deal with all the stuffed animals?"
With a sparkle in his eye
he replied: "Advertising. It's all about advertising. And besides, the
kids and the ladies love em."