I had no idea that a bare-butted, cast-iron statue of the Roman god, Vulcan, stood watch over the city of Birmingham, Alabama. But, he does. Standing at 56’ tall (not counting his pedestal) and weighing in at over 100,000 pounds, makes him the largest cast-iron statue in the world. How he got there is an interesting story.

The statue was commissioned in October, 1903 by Birmingham’s Commercial Club for the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair as a fitting representation of Birmingham’s iron and steel industry. The sculptor, Giuseppe Moretti, began work in November and miraculously had the Armorer of the Gods ready to ship to St. Louis by the end of April, 1904. Ole Vulc’ was a hit, and his creator won a medal. The only problem seemed to be that no one had considered what to do with him once the fair was over. The cities of St. Louis and San Francisco offered to buy the big guy from Birmingham, but the city fathers decided to keep him. So, he was duly shipped home by rail, unloaded, and left by the railroad tracks for 18 months. He finally made it to the Alabama State Fairgrounds where he was improperly assembled, but by 1935, it was decided to properly assemble him atop Red Mountain, a most appropriate spot considering that Red Mountain is essentially a huge pile of iron ore with trees growing on the collected topsoil.

Poor Vulcan suffered the indignity of serving as a giant advertising piece. Originally, he held a spear or arrow in his right hand, but as that was lost on the return trip from St. Louis, he ended up holding ice cream cones, a Coca-Cola bottle, and even a jar of Heinz pickles. The fall from Armorer of the Gods to Mad Man must have been traumatic.

He finally made it to the top of Red Mountain in 1939 setting off a nine-day celebration. Eventually, it was decided he needed some bucking up, but the decision to pour concrete inside the hollow structure proved unwise. Concrete and iron expand and contract at different rates and ultimately his innards began cracking his outtards. He and his surrounding park were remodeled around 1970 in a style that didn’t even last as long as the ’70s. Between 2002 and 2004, the city fathers—and mothers, by this time—tore down the ’70s park and restored the 1939 look. They cleaned up Vulcan and had some kind of statue-orthopedist check out all his joints, and he now stands proudly on his sandstone pedestal beaming down on the Birminghamians below.

The suburb of Homewood, has the reverse view, however. It was apparently the custom of blacksmiths back in the day to wear a leather apron, but to forego pants. One would think that pants would be a given what with all those sparks flying hither and yon, but I am neither a blacksmith nor a Roman god, so I’m in no position to question. I would bet, however, that this would not meet OSHA standards for a safe work environment. In any case, the point is that all over Alabama, the full moon shines down every 28 days except in Homewood, where Vulcan moons Homewoodians 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Fully.

The official Vulcan Park and Museum website provides all the particulars regarding hours, admission, directions, etc, and the museum is well worth the time to visit. The gift shop even offers a Vulcan bobble head, only Vulcan’s head is not the only thing that bobbles. A very gentile Southern lady was only too eager to turn the little guy around to show me that his bare butt bobbles as well. Vulcan’s little park is well-worth the visit and offers a majestic view of Birmingham and environs.