Now and then, we stumble upon a story that’s too bizarre to be made up. Imagine digging a well and uncovering a 10-foot-tall petrified man buried beneath your fields. That’s precisely what happened-or seemed to happen—in the fall of 1869. On a recent trip through Iowa, Crystal and I found ourselves face-to-face with one of the most jaw-dropping relics of American showmanship: a stone man with a backstory as large as his feet. But before I tell you the truth (or what passes for it), let me rewind to the humble city where we met him—Fort Dodge.
We want to thank Visit Fort Dodge for hosting our visit. Rest assured, all photos and opinions are our own.
The Fort Museum and a Tall Tale Waiting to Be Told
We didn’t just stumble across this stone oddity—we sought it out. The Fort Museum in Fort Dodge had been on our radar for months, ever since I first read whispers about a giant hiding in plain sight. This living history complex is part frontier outpost, part time capsule, and all heart. With its log buildings, vintage artifacts, and wandering reenactors, it’s the kind of place where the past feels just close enough to touch. We were excited to explore the pioneer village, knowing we would come face-to-face with the Cardiff Giant. The backstory reminded me of another eccentric destination we’d visited—the Garden of Eden in Lucas, Kansas—where art and oddity collide in the most unexpected ways. We couldn’t wait to meet the Fort Museum’s whopper of a hoax.
The Birth of a Giant Lie
The story begins in the small town of Cardiff, New York, where in 1869, a pair of well diggers hit something solid beneath the soil. What emerged was a human-shaped colossus, chiseled from gypsum and complete with weathered skin and a mournful expression. It was a marvel—or so people thought. Behind this miracle was George Hull, a cigar-puffing atheist who’d hatched the idea after a heated argument about biblical giants. With the help of a sculptor and a secret shipment of gypsum from none other than Fort Dodge itself, Hull had the statue carved, buried, and forgotten—until the day it was “discovered.”
The Cardiff Giant Hoax
The public went wild. Ministers hailed it as proof of Genesis, scientists scratched their heads, and entrepreneurs rubbed their hands in anticipation. Hull began charging 50 cents a peek (a tidy sum back then), and the crowds rolled in like a circus train. Enter P.T. Barnum, the king of humbug, who offered $50,000 for the statue. When turned down, he made his own fake fake giant and claimed it was the real one. The public was left to pick sides in a battle of bogus behemoths. Eventually, the ruse unraveled—Hull came clean, and the scientific community sighed in relief. But the legend? It stuck around.
What many don’t realize is that the stone used for Hull’s colossal prank was quarried right here in Fort Dodge. That makes this city not just a footnote but a foundational chapter in the Cardiff Giant hoax. It seems fitting, then, that a replica would find a home here, tucked away like a forgotten chapter in a well-worn history book. Standing before this drowsy-eyed titan, Crystal and I felt that familiar tingle of roadside wonder. There’s something about seeing a piece of the past—no matter how fabricated—that tugs at your sense of reality. Was he real? No. But he was real enough to fool the masses. And maybe that’s what matters most in a good story.
Why We Love a Good Hoax
It’s easy to laugh at the folks who fell for the Cardiff Giant hoax, but deep down, I think we all want to believe in something strange. Something that shakes loose the dust of the everyday. Stories like these feed our imaginations, spark dinner-table debates, and give small towns like Fort Dodge a little extra magic. As we stood under the watchful gaze of a gypsum goliath, I couldn’t help but be amazed. What’s the most unexpected historical oddity you’ve discovered on your travels? Drop it in the comments—we’re always looking for the next great tall tale.
