What Is This Ten-Foot Man Doing in Cooperstown?

Imagine digging a well and finding a human-shaped figure more than ten feet long, buried several feet beneath the soil. In 1869, that's what two workers uncovered on a farm in central New York. People traveled to see it, paid admission, and argued over what it could possibly be.

Was it an ancient sculpture? A petrified person? Proof that giants once walked the earth? The most remarkable answer turned out to be none of those things. And the original object can be seen today at Fenimore Farm & Country Village in Cooperstown.

On October 16, 1869, Gideon Emmons and Henry Nichols were digging a well on the property of William “Stub” Newell in Cardiff, a hamlet south of Syracuse in Onondaga County. They struck something hard below the surface. As they cleared away the earth, they found what appeared to be an enormous stone foot. Eventually, a full human-shaped figure emerged.

The figure was more than ten feet long. Its body showed a face, fingers, limbs, and skinlike details. The discovery spread quickly through newspapers and conversation. Visitors arrived by carriage and wagon, eager to get a look at the so-called petrified giant.

Newell put a tent over the pit and charged admission. The fee reportedly started at 25 cents and rose to 50 cents after the crowds appeared. Some visitors were convinced they were looking at a petrified human. Others thought the object was an ancient statue. Scientists and other skeptics questioned it from the start.

George Hull, a cigar maker from Binghamton and a relative of Newell, had arranged for a massive block of gypsum to be quarried in Iowa and carved into the shape of a man in Chicago. Workers shaped the face and body. Hull had the surface altered to make it appear weathered, including tiny marks intended to resemble pores.

According to the commonly told account, Hull was inspired partly by a religious argument about whether biblical references to giants should be understood literally. His scheme combined an experiment in human credulity with a chance to make money. In 1868, the completed object was secretly buried on Newell's farm, ready to be “discovered” the following year.

Its supposed age was part of the illusion. The stone was gypsum, not the remains of a person turned to stone. Even in 1869, some observers noticed that the surface looked too recently worked. Paleontologist Othniel C. Marsh publicly rejected the find as a hoax.

As the Cardiff Giant became a national sensation, it attracted the attention of showman P. T. Barnum. When he could not acquire the original, Barnum had a copy made and displayed it to his own paying audience. For a time, visitors could choose between the original fake giant and Barnum's imitation of it.

That's one of the details that makes this story so wonderfully absurd. A manufactured object was promoted as a genuine ancient discovery, then duplicated by a professional showman who wanted his own piece of the excitement. The publicity surrounding the competing giants became part of the spectacle.

Hull's role in the deception eventually came to light, but public fascination did not disappear immediately. The giant continued to travel and be exhibited long after it had lost any claim to being a real fossil.

After passing through different owners and exhibitions, the original Cardiff Giant entered the collection of what was then known as The Farmers' Museum in Cooperstown in the 1940s. The museum is now called Fenimore Farm & Country Village, and its official visitor materials identify the Cardiff Giant as one of its attractions.

It's a particularly interesting place to encounter the giant. The museum's historic farms and workshops help visitors imagine life in nineteenth-century New York, while this object tells a very different story about the same era: curiosity, publicity, spectacle, and how willingly people sometimes believe an extraordinary claim.

It also offers a reminder that historical objects don't always mean what their first promoters said they meant. Sometimes the most interesting question is not “How old is it?” but “Who wanted us to believe this, and why?”

It's easy to imagine spotting a face and fingers beneath layers of dirt and wondering whether something impossible had been found. But it's just as interesting to picture the people who recognized the trick right away and watched the crowds keep arriving anyway.

The Cardiff Giant is no longer a mystery to archaeologists. It's a carved gypsum sculpture, an elaborate fraud, and a remarkable surviving piece of nineteenth-century American showmanship. But the question it raises is still worth asking: If you had seen it in 1869, would you have believed it was real?

We're always looking for the unusual corners and unexpected stories that make this area interesting. Find more discoveries and ideas for your visit on the Cooperstown Bed & Breakfast blog.