If you’re a fan of Roadside America, you’ve inevitably heard about the Muffler Man phenomenon. They were these giant fiberglass mascots made for various companies, most notably for auto mechanics where they held, you guessed it, mufflers. Over time, these Americana avatars were scattered to the wind, being reborn as Paul Bunyans, Vikings, cowboys, clowns, pirates, construction workers, football players, chicken boys, serape-clad Mexican restaurant waiters, and space men. In the case of the Bakersfield Muffler Man, he’s been painted red with a couple feathers added to the top of his head. His arms are no longer bent and holding an unspecified object in front of his chest, but rather reshaped, giving a «Heil Hitler”-like salute. And when I say he’s red. We’re not talking like a reddish-brown. I mean this guy is somewhere between crimson and brick red. Bako’s Muffler Man lives on as a stereotypical Native American that I guiltily admit has gotten«What Makes the Red Man Red?» from Disney’s «Peter Pan» stuck in my head more than once on my way to Shark Tooth Hill. «The Warrior,» as some call him, stands solemnly in the dusty parking lot for Ethel’s Old Corral Café off the Old Alfred Harrell Highway, «waving» to cars as they speed passed.
