When I was growing up in the mid-to-late 1970s, a highlight of visiting our family farm in Hamilton County, Iowa, was always stopping by the Happy Chef restaurant in nearby Story City. I still recall the thrill of running toward the towering fiberglass chef, my small hand eagerly reaching for the button at its base. Pressing it brought the chef to life, his booming laughter followed by a playful joke like, “Hey kids! Got room for dessert? Why did the cookie go to the doctor? Because he felt crummy!”
Imagine the excitement of today’s youth if they encountered an interactive fiberglass giant at their local restaurant or car wash. The simple joy of pushing a button and hearing a cheerful voice or silly joke could help pull children—and perhaps even adults—away from their digital worlds, fostering real-life interactions and lasting memories.
The opportunity for our children to create such meaningful memories shouldn’t be overlooked. The world has changed significantly since the days when these statues dotted the American landscape, yet the fundamental human desire for connection, amusement, and whimsy remains unchanged.
This wasn’t just clever marketing—it was pure magic for a kid. That particular Happy Chef location has long since closed, leaving just one lone outpost in Mankato, Minnesota. Yet, the connection I formed with that smiling chef remains so powerful that if I were ever near Mankato today, I’d feel almost compelled to stop by—especially if I had my own children in tow. Sadly, these opportunities to create simple, unforgettable memories have become rare, assuming, of course, I could even convince my kids to look up from their ever-present iPads. That is the power of iconic roadside landmarks.
A Lost Part of Roadside Americana
Decades ago, roadside landmarks and iconic fiberglass brand mascots were commonplace across the American retail landscape. From the golden arches and cheerful Ronald McDonald beckoning families into the eponymous fast-food chain to the iconic 16’ Big Boy proudly holding his double-decker burger aloft, these statues weren’t just promotional—they were integral parts of our shared cultural identity. They stood as friendly signposts signaling familiar comforts and unique community quirks. Many are now housed in the Big Boy Graveyard in Cincinnati.
One of the most recognizable examples of a roadside landmark was Colonel Sanders, the smiling, white-suited icon welcoming patrons into Kentucky Fried Chicken locations nationwide. His statues became synonymous with hospitality, symbolizing not only a meal but a warm, inviting experience. The now largely defunct Howard Johnson restaurant and motel brand—once nearly ubiquitous along America’s highways and interstates—similarly employed whimsical statuary, adorning their establishments with nursery rhyme characters like Simple Simon and the Pie Man. Dining out became not merely functional but fantastical, appealing directly to children’s imaginations and, indirectly, their parents’ wallets.
Yet, in recent decades, these playful statues have largely disappeared. Modern marketers tend to view these icons as relics born from the post-World War II “Mad Men” era. Consequently, once-prominent figures like the towering Muffler Men—massive fiberglass giants clutching automotive parts—have become rare sights from a bygone era.
Change of Venue
The Michelin Man (his actual name is Bibendum) who once cheerfully greeted customers at tire shops across the nation, is now primarily a subtle graphic on tire labels. Even amusement parks, traditionally bastions of playful imagery, have scaled back their physical mascots. Six Flags Theme Parks once prominently displayed beloved Looney Tunes characters as statues; now these whimsical ambassadors are largely confined to parade floats or occasional photo ops. Standard Oil (now Mobil) once used a flying red Pegasus to signal to travelers far and wide that a service station was nearby.
Among these symbols, the story of Sambo’s Restaurants particularly illustrates the complexity surrounding the decline of these commercial icons. Popularized by the children’s book “Little Black Sambo,” Sambo restaurants rapidly expanded during the mid-20th century, employing statues of a young boy and a tiger prominently outside their locations. Initially beloved, these mascots soon faced scrutiny as awareness of racial stereotyping grew. The controversy eventually overwhelmed the brand, and the statues disappeared as swiftly as they had appeared. This example highlights how changing societal attitudes and increased sensitivity around representation significantly contributed to the disappearance or reimagining of many commercial statues.
A Craving for Kitsch
Still, nostalgia for these statues persists, indicating they resonated deeply with the American public. Just consider the enduring popularity of large-scale, public sculptures today. Tourists regularly pose with the massive animal statues outside Cabela’s retail locations across the country. Cities worldwide have embraced painted fiberglass cows, horses, and even ducks as public art installations, generating enthusiastic public engagement and community pride.
Likewise, Minnesota’s iconic Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox statues in Bemidji have long been a beloved roadside attraction, drawing visitors who eagerly pose for memorable photographs. Yet these sculptures lack the playful charm and interactive whimsy of the iconic statues from decades past. Clearly, the continued popularity of these playful, quirky landmarks highlights the enduring appeal of kitschy, oversized statues.
A recent story in the Minnesota Star Tribune makes an entertaining yet powerful case for bringing back these quirky commercial icons. It argues that our cities desperately need the unique character, warmth, and fun these whimsical statues once provided—qualities that today’s bland, cookie-cutter urban landscapes sorely lack.
The article fondly remembers a local and delightfully absurd Octopus Car Wash mascot, an imaginative green octopus holding cleaning gear and cheerfully promising customers “Many Hands to Serve You.” Who knew washing your car could be so fun? Such playful creativity transformed mundane tasks into joyful moments, and losing these statues has drained modern urban environments of their personality.
Despite their disappearance, a few remnants of this golden age of retail statuary linger, cherished by enthusiasts. A&W restaurants once had the delightful Burger Family statues—Papa, Mama, Baby, and Teen—each hoisting burgers and root beer. Few remain, scattered at locations like Mountain Lake, Minnesota.
Additionally, a few classic Big Boy statues can still be found proudly holding their iconic burgers in places like Burbank, California, and Livonia, Michigan. That said, decommissioned statues are abandoned in a “Big Boy Graveyard” in Cincinnati, Ohio. Sinclair Oil’s friendly green dinosaur statues still greet travelers at select gas stations in places like Budd Lake, New Jersey. Their continued popularity hints at the enduring appeal of these whimsical displays.
The Roadside Landmark Understory
The call for the return of these statues isn’t just nostalgia speaking. In an age dominated by digital screens, social isolation, and impersonal retail experiences, reintroducing physical, amusing statues could go a long way towards reconnecting communities and offering memorable shared experiences, serving not merely as marketing tools but as landmarks, gathering points, and sources of collective pride. And most importantly, serving as backdrops to thousands of selfies!
“In the era of selfies and YouTubers, many iconic retailers are missing out on a huge opportunity to reinforce their branding by not having those iconic statues and figures that were so common just a few decades ago,” observed Pat Milan, the Chief Insights Officer at the communications advisory firm Tunheim and a seasoned marketer who managed national accounts for BMW, the PGA Tour and the Bahamas. “Kitsch is back. Consumers crave connectedness. And these big brands need to get with the program. Just be mindful that the sensibilities of today’s consumers are very different than those of only a few generations ago.”
Dr. Darin Detwiler, a professor of food policy and corporate social responsibility at Northeastern University, believes that the retail roadside mascots of yesteryear were ultimately about trust. “These statues were more than oversized decorations—they were beacons of trust for families on the road,” he explains. He believes that at a time when food safety scandals and rising prices dominate headlines, brands are facing increasing pressure to rebuild consumer confidence. Dr. Detwiler opines that, though costly to create, these mascots served as enduring symbols of consistency, quality, and corporate transparency.
“Brands haven’t rushed to bring back these iconic roadside figures because they’ve become overly focused on short-term ROI,” Detwiler notes. While modern campaigns emphasize aesthetics, he argues that true brand loyalty comes from emotional connection, trust, and cultural relevance. “Mascots like Colonel Sanders offered something digital campaigns can’t replicate: a tangible, enduring symbol of consistency and reliability.” Until brands recognize the power of nostalgia and physical presence in fostering long-term loyalty, these once-trusted icons will remain relics of the past.
Skeptics Abound
But the idea that these selfie-ready iconic mascots are poised for a return is not without its detractors. “The fiberglass mascot era thrived because brand visibility was physical—capturing attention on highways before digital advertising existed,” observed Kaveh Vahdat, the founder and President of Riseopp, a fractional marketing CMO agency. These statues were larger-than-life sales pitches, making locations unmistakable in an era when signage and TV commercials weren’t enough.”
Vahdat believes that their decline wasn’t just about taste, but rather shifting economics. He and other skeptics believe there simply isn’t a return on the investment and maintenance of these big statues; digital marketing is cheaper, more targeted, and doesn’t require maintenance or zoning approvals. “If fiberglass mascots had an ROI today, brands would be using them. Unless they can be reimagined as interactive, viral-friendly experiences, they’ll remain relics of a pre-digital brand economy,” added Vahdat.
MAWA (Make America Whimsical Again)
Imagine the excitement of today’s youth if they encountered an interactive fiberglass giant at their local restaurant or car wash. The simple joy of pushing a button and hearing a cheerful voice or silly joke could help pull children—and perhaps even adults—away from their digital worlds, fostering real-life interactions and lasting memories.
The opportunity for our children to create such meaningful memories shouldn’t be overlooked. The world has changed significantly since the days when these statues dotted the American landscape, yet the fundamental human desire for connection, amusement, and whimsy remains unchanged.
“Brand mascot statues connected so well with consumers in the past because of their ability to put more than just a face to the brand,” noted Reilly Newman, the CEO of Motif Brands. “The psychology at play is that while mascots embody the brand through association; they are not the logo. This extension empowered the identity of the brand to do more than a logo can do on its own, giving, using of anthropomorphism to give a brand a personality that adds more depth to the brand.”
I argue that businesses and communities alike should reconsider embracing these delightful relics of a more colorful past. Reintroducing these roadside landmarks, updated of course with all the de rigueur interactive digital elements that modern takes on these statuesque icons would require would not merely revive nostalgia—it would rejuvenate a sense of community, identity, and joy.
America, in many ways, needs the levity and charm these roadside landmarks once provided—one might argue now more so than ever before. It’s time for cities, towns, and businesses to recognize the value these iconic figures once held and to consider the potential impact of bringing them back. They have the power to draw people together, spark conversations, and create a uniquely memorable sense of place.
In a society increasingly driven by digital interfaces and virtual realities, reintroducing iconic retail statues could offer a refreshing counterbalance, inviting us to rediscover the joy of simple, physical, whimsical encounters. For the sake of community, culture, and collective memory, let’s welcome back the Happy Chefs, Big Boys, and all the whimsical mascots that once brought character and charm to everyday life.
