The most celebrated resident of Frazee, Minn., is 22 feet tall and is known to his friends simply as Big Tom. He lives alone just off Highway 10, past the metal barns but before the railroad tracks, where admirers show up seeking photos at all hours of the day.
Big Tom is a turkey — the world’s largest, locals will tell you — and his fiberglass feathers are more than just a conversation starter. He pays homage to the region’s poultry industry, a cornerstone of the rural Minnesota economy, and to the annual Turkey Days festival in Frazee, a town of 1,300 people about 200 miles northwest of Minneapolis.
While no sculpture is quite like Big Tom, who was roosting over Frazee before Thanksgiving with icicles clinging to his chest, snow on his tail feathers and a stoic expression above his wattle, it does not take long while wandering the Midwestern countryside to see more supersize statuary.
Minnesota alone is home to a giant loon in Vergas, a giant otter in Fergus Falls, a giant prairie chicken in Rothsay, a giant sugar beet in Halstad, a giant crow in Belgrade, a giant pelican in, of course, Pelican Rapids and giant Paul Bunyans in Akeley, Bemidji and Brainerd.
For small places that will never have the tallest building or grandest stadium, having one of the world’s largest of something — truly, anything — can be a way to forge an identity, pull in visitors and, perhaps most of all, share a laugh.
“They’re all over the place — it’s kind of a Midwestern thing,” said Jay Estenson, a hair salon owner in Frazee for nearly 50 years who grew up in North Dakota, which claims the world’s largest buffalo and world’s largest sandhill crane. “We make our own fun. Sometimes you’ve got to. Especially in the middle of the winter.”
Other parts of the United States certainly have roadside giants, but the Midwest makes it an art form. Head down a highway, and you are likely to see a sign beckoning you to an oversize rendering of a mammal, vegetable, cartoon character or household item — the selfie opportunity you never knew you needed.
The claims speckle the region: world’s largest watermelon slice (Muscatine, Iowa), world’s largest Holstein cow (New Salem, N.D.), world’s largest Superman (Metropolis, Ill.), world’s largest pheasant (Huron, S.D.), world’s largest hand-painted Czech egg (Wilson, Kan.) and the world’s largest (Casey, Ill.) and second-largest (Cuba, Mo.) rocking chairs. Four states (Kansas, Minnesota, Missouri and Wisconsin) boast giant balls of twine, one of which seems certain to be the world’s largest. And don’t confuse the world’s largest muskie in Hayward, Wis., with the world’s largest tiger muskie in Nevis, Minn.
In an era when small towns are struggling to attract newcomers and businesses, a claim to world’s-largest fame can foster civic pride and draw tourists who might buy lunch or a tank of gas after posing for their photo. In some places, local leaders seek out Guinness World Records recognition; in others, they do some research on Google, claim the world’s largest mantle and hope no one complains.
In Casey, Ill., Jim Bolin, whose family owns a pipeline and tank maintenance company, had brainstormed how to get travelers on Interstate 70 to pause in his hometown. He settled on making the world’s largest wind chime using spare parts from his company’s shop.
“The smaller towns are getting smaller in the United States,” Mr. Bolin said. “We kind of were trying to think outside the box: How we could put Casey back on the map and make it interesting for people to come and move here?”
When the wind chime proved to be a hit, Mr. Bolin and his employees kept engineering more giant items, including a mailbox, golf tee, pitchfork and teeter totter. Visitors loved it, and the project changed the landscape of Casey, which has about 2,400 residents. A coat hanger and a porch swing will soon join the supersize collection, Mr. Bolin said.
Gregg Holte, a longtime sugar beet farmer who lives outside Halstad, Minn., and who helped bring a supersize sugar beet to that town, said a project like that could convey a sense of growth and pride.
In Halstad, population 560, the giant beet sits next to a well-stocked general store and an electric vehicle charging station, as well as a sign with educational material about sugar beets, a common crop in the Red River Valley of Minnesota and North Dakota that outsiders have been known to confuse with a turnip.
“We’re trying to set ourselves aside from everybody else and say, ‘Hey, we’re willing to work and show that we want to promote our community and have it last and be a good place to live,’” Mr. Holte said.
In Frazee, the origins of Big Tom can be traced to the 1980s, when residents were searching for a way to make their city stand out.
People in Frazee have made their careers from turkeys for generations. The city used to be home to a turkey hatchery and a turkey processing facility. Those are gone now, but metal turkey barns still line the country roads outside town, helping make Minnesota the country’s largest producer of turkeys. The state’s turkey farmers raised 38.5 million birds last year.
In the years after the first Big Tom was installed, the sculpture began to fall apart. The local Community Club circulated a flyer seeking donations for a new Big Tom, citing “design flaws and construction errors” in the first bird. “In turkey language, ‘Old Tom’ has gone into a molt,” the flyer said.
But before the original Tom could receive a dignified send-off, a group of well-meaning locals performing work on the sculpture accidentally ignited it with a blowtorch. A passerby snapped a photo of the fully engulfed bird, growing the legend of Big Tom, who was replaced soon thereafter.
“When that fire got inside that wing, it was like a chimney — it went straight up,” said Ken Fett, who was a member of the ill-fated blowtorch crew.
Big Tom is not the only way Frazee leans into its turkey ties. There is another turkey sculpture outside the gas station, an ongoing turkey-themed scavenger hunt, frozen-turkey bowling during the annual Turkey Days festival, a turkey mascot that stars in social media videos and a new pub on Main Avenue called the Gobbler.
But residents want to be known for more than their beloved bird. New businesses have been coming to Frazee, new homes are being planned, and a community center that offers after-school programming and a youth-staffed bistro opened not long ago.
“Our vision is to make Frazee the best place to raise your kids,” said Karen Pifher, who helps lead several civic groups, “and in the last five years there’s been a ton of revitalization.”
Still, to many outsiders, Frazee remains the small town with the giant turkey. Most residents seem just fine with that.
“Traveling the U.S., if you wear a Frazee shirt, you’re going to have somebody stop you,” said Mayor Mike Sharp, who described just such an encounter when he was hiking with his family in Utah not long ago. The conversations, he said, go something like this: “Hey, I stopped there, I’ve looked at your turkey.”
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