THE BEAST OF BOGGY CREEK: The True Story of the Fouke Monster (8 page)

In general, however, the townsfolk of Fouke were dubious of the whole affair. They were at the center, but the limelight was not something they were used to or even liked. The town’s mindset was to minimize the craziness; they didn’t want to get caught up in the trappings of tourism. They were far more concerned about upholding the peace, reducing property damage, and staving off any causalities that could result from the gonzo hunts. It would be some time before the town came to realize they had become synonymous with a cryptozoological icon.

Boggy Creek Café / Smith’s Service Station sign circa 1970s.
(Courtesy of the Miller County Historical Society)

Don’t Blink

When reporter Jim Powell referred to the alleged creature as “The Fouke Monster,” it was apparent early on that the name was going to stick. It is certain that the town of Fouke did not intend to have a monster associated with its name, but as history has proven, it is a pairing that will never be broken as long as the stories still propagate on the internet and in documentaries, and authors continue to write books about such creatures. Although it is sometimes referred to as the “Boggy Creek Monster,” due to its movie appearances, it is not long into a conversation before “Fouke” is attached to its name. So, to fully understand the monster, it is important to get an accurate picture of the small town that lies at the heart of this story.

As mentioned previously, Fouke is part of Miller County which shares borders with both Texas and Louisiana. Despite the popular dry, flat image of Texas, the eastern areas of the Lone Star state are quite heavily thicketed, as are the great expanses of northern Louisiana, which all blend together as the trio of states merge with the rich countryside of Arkansas. It is here that Fouke occupies an unassuming position among the majestic pines on a scenic stretch of old U.S. Highway 71, also known as Monster Expressway until recently (yes, this was an official name!). A few minutes northwest of Fouke lies the major city of Texarkana, named in honor of the three surrounding states (Tex-Ark-Ana). To its south lies the Sulphur River Bottoms and the point where the Sulphur and Red Rivers converge.

At the time when the monster was seen crossing U.S. 71 in front of Mr. and Mrs. D.C. Woods, Jr., it was the only highway that went anywhere near Fouke. Since then, the more modern Highway 549 has been added. Opened in 2004, U.S. 549 originates in Texarkana and runs parallel to U.S. 71 as it heads toward Louisiana. It adds convenience, but to pass through Fouke’s main strip, you would still need to traverse the old Monster Expressway.

While Fouke is considered part of the ever-expanding Texarkana Metropolitan Area, it still manages to maintain a rural, down-home feel even to this day. That is not to say that Fouke has remained behind the times—it has plenty of modern conveniences—only that it maintains a feel of traditional country culture that one might think of when seeking a truly out-of-the-way retreat or perhaps a place to begin a hunting trip. Even by small town standards, the town of Fouke is small, with a mere 852 people making up its total population, according to recent real estate reports. At the high point of its monster mania back in the early 1970s, the population was barely over 500, which illustrates its minimal growth over the last 40 years.

When leaving the main highways of the Texarkana loop and proceeding down U.S. 71, the road quickly sheds the landmarks of modern life and takes on a more peaceful demeanor. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of taking in one of the vast rural areas of Arkansas, then you know the rich green beauty that rises high on either side of its roadways and seems to swallow the spattering of houses and other buildings, which dare to share the land. The trees here are thick, as if they are attempting to keep in their secrets, and the brush threatens to engulf anything that is beyond the reaches of a powerful lawnmower. The occasional skeletons of rusted farm equipment and cars only add proof to the constant battle between man and nature that exists outside the cement confines of the big city.

As you proceed through Fouke, only a small hint of the town’s dubious monster can be seen in the form of a convenience store called Monster Mart. Over the years, the establishment has been a steady reminder of the small town’s big legend, proudly displaying an artist’s rendering of the creature on its outer wall and offering a small display and curio counter inside where Fouke Monster gifts can be purchased along with the usual assortment of traveler’s treats and guide maps.

But don’t let a preconceived idea of rampant capitalism influence the vision you may be conjuring of the Monster Mart’s offerings. There are no large displays of t-shirt styles, coffee mugs, plastic figurines, or anything that might be associated with a big-city tourist operation. The Fouke Monster merchandising is limited in scope, offering one shirt design with a crudely drawn image, a small assortment of postcards, and a few other items displayed behind a small glass counter. While it does contain one plaster cast of an alleged Bigfoot track, this is not one of the curious three-toed tracks found in the bean field back in 1971.

Tacked to a small bulletin board near the entrance are some newspaper clippings, but these don’t seem to be given much respect considering they are not laminated or even arranged in an orderly fashion. The clippings are yellowed, or worse, just copies that flutter like frantic moth wings every time someone walks through the door. Given the sparse amount of monster memorabilia, it is evident that either the Fouke Monster doesn’t demand such money-luring fanfare these days or else the Monster Mart shares the town’s general reluctance to fully embrace its notorious resident. [5]

Next to the Monster Mart, in a small lot between it and the Fouke Post Office, tourists can find the only other visible reminder of the town’s legacy. This is a large version of the monster made out of metal, artistically painted to look like fur. The head has an oval cutout where monster hunters of all ages can insert their own grinning face in order to capture the moment with a photo. A plaque hangs in front by a chain, identifying it as the “Boggy Creek Monster - Fouke, AR.”

On my first trip to Fouke, I spoke with former Monster Mart owner Rick Roberts, who graciously entertained me for more than two hours with stories of the monster and its rise to cult movie infamy. Roberts assured me that tourists still stop by the store on a daily basis to ask about the monster or to purchase t-shirts or postcards. We spoke about an episode of the ABC television show,
Wife Swap
, which had ironically aired the night before I made one of my many trips to Fouke for research. In the episode, one of the families told how they spent their leisure time “monster hunting” in a fun-loving, amateur cryptozoologist sort of way. As part of the show, the wife took the children of the swap family on a monster hunt to show them how fun it can be to get out in nature. So where did they go? Fouke, Arkansas. Even though the narrator kept pronouncing it
Fook
—I could almost see the eyes of the entire town rolling every time he said it—this underscored the fact that Fouke Monster charm was alive and well, no doubt about it.

Leaving the Monster Mart and continuing south on U.S. 71, it is only a scant few rotations of the car tires before the main strip of Fouke is already in the rearview. It’s usually at that point you begin wonder where in the heck is the
legendary
Boggy Creek? That was my question the first time I visited Fouke. Returning to the Monster Mart, I was told that the infamous Boggy Creek was about two miles on down 71, but don’t expect so much as a sign marking its location. And indeed, Boggy Creek, for all its big-time Hollywood fame and monster trafficking, is but a thin tributary of water that snakes through the trees and runs under U.S. 71 in quiet, dignified solitude. In fact, if you didn’t know it was there, you would drive right past it on your way out of town.

Metal monster standing near the Fouke Post Office.
(Photo by the author)

Most all bodies of water, no matter how insignificant, usually get a state-issued green sign at the point where they cross a highway, or at least that’s what I’ve noticed in the Texas-Arkansas area. But this is not the case for Boggy Creek, which seems an injustice considering its larger-than-life reputation. I later asked Rick Roberts why there was no sign, speculating that perhaps it was because it was being stolen as a memento too often. He confirmed my suspicion, but indicated that moreso it was because of safety. Too many people were stopping on the roadside, creating a hazard.

Despite the absence of the state name tag, the notorious waterway is not totally devoid of recognition. After a few visits, I was clued in on an inconspicuous plaque that is set into the concrete at one side of the bridge. There, molded in heavy brass, are the words “Boggy Creek 1970.” So, even though it is not evident to the casual motorist, the little creek is not completely condemned to anonymity. In a way, it seems to symbolize the town’s love-hate relationship with its monstrous fame. At first glance, there may only be a few reminders of the monster’s presence, but there is certainly more hidden beneath the surface.

The Boggy Creek bridge where it crosses U.S. Highway 71.
(Photo by the author)

Rolling out past Boggy Creek, U.S. 71 is again engulfed by the rich treeline on either side of the road, making Fouke a mere roadside attraction in the scheme of the landscape. Given this, it’s not hard to imagine what Fouke was like back when the monster reports first started coming to light. Not much has really changed, and that seems to be just the way the town prefers it.

Sabbath Outpost

The town may now be famous for a monster, but Fouke was originally founded by Reverend John F. Shaw as a religious colony in 1891. [6]  Shaw had come to nearby Texarkana in 1876 where he became pastor of the newly established First Baptist Church and editor of the
Daily Visitor
, one of the city’s first newspapers. At the time, Texarkana was a rapidly growing city whose businesses operated seven days a week to keep up with the demands of the local lumber industry and the non-stop influx of visitors and workers brought in by the railroads. As such, the town attracted more than its share of shrewd entrepreneurs, crooks, outlaws, saloon owners, and ladies of the night. Shaw found all of this to be at odds with good Christian values, most notably since the city itself and many of its people failed to observe Sunday as the Lord’s Day. The gambling, hooking, and drinking ran every day in flagrant disregard for the Sabbath; even people claiming to be good Christians would often work on Sundays. Shaw sought to change the situation as best he could.