Banksy of Sandcastles
June 28, 2023 – Galveston, Texas, USA
As she looked around the faces in the conference room, Julie Wiltbank got the sensation she was plotting a military operation. Maps hung on the walls. Timelines and personnel lists were scrawled on the whiteboards. As the communications director for Galveston tourism, Julie was usually not in charge of so many people. She had worked hard to pull in extra resources and borrow helpers from other departments.
“Everyone’s using the term Banksy of Sandcastles, right?” Julie asked her team.
Nods all around.
“And the Houston TV stations are cooperating? Each one will take a separate beach?”
A young woman acting as the liaison with the stations gave Julie a thumbs up.
“And how many radio stations do we have?”
“Looks like seven so far,” another assistant answered. “We might get a couple more.”
“Any issues with the event webpages you created?”
The city’s internet guru answered with, “Smooth so far. We can handle all the traffic you’re talking about with lots of buffer.”
“And everyone’s assigned a different social media account. The night before, we’ll want to constantly update and respond to posts.” Julie turned to Tosh, her supervisor, and said, “If this doesn’t get people interested in Galveston, I don’t know what will.”
Tosh smiled and looked out the conference room window. Beyond the multistory parking structure connected to the municipal building was a view of the Gulf of Mexico. “I defer to your judgment,” Tosh said sincerely. “If you think it will grab people’s attention, I’m here to support you.”
“People love a mystery,” Julie answered, switching into the sales mode she had been using for weeks when talking about her idea. “When the real Banksy sneaks up a painting in England in the middle of the night, people go nuts for it.”
“And no one knows who this Banksy person is, right?” Tosh replied.
“That’s part of the mystery. You don’t know where one of the paintings will show up or who’s doing them. People love them so much they can be worth millions of dollars.”
Julie had been educating city employees about Banksy, the British graffiti artist, ever since she had coined the term “Banksy of Sandcastles.” An equally elusive sandcastle artist had been at work in Galveston for the past ten years. He or she was more predictable than the graffiti Banksy and always delivered a spectacular sandcastle on the same date – July 4th. But no one knew how the sandcastles were created or where exactly they would show up.
The mystery sandcastles were usually the size of a large truck. It seemed impossible a single person was making them and keeping them so well hidden until the morning of July 4th. The designs were amazingly artistic and detailed, usually depicting scenes from fairy tales. Galveston had awoken to find a sand version of the Little Mermaid, Cinderella and her pumpkin carriage, and the witch’s candy house from the Hansel and Gretel story.
Tosh, who was ultimately responsible for how the city’s budget was spent, turned his attention toward the list of people on the whiteboard. He asked Julie, “Are you sure it’s not better to simply announce where the castle is and invite people down to see it? Why this hunt to uncover the builder?”
“People like uncovering a mystery more than they like looking at sandcastles. And we want them in hotels and restaurants before July 4th, not just the day of.”
“I get the whole mystery thing, but if you reveal who’s doing it, they might decide to stop. It’ll be like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.”
“Well, whatever. I can’t think about next year’s eggs. In the PR game you have to strike while the story is hot and people are interested. Next year may as well be forever away.”
Julie walked to a map of Galveston. Its long stretch of coastline was divided into sections representing the different beaches where a sandcastle might appear. Julie talked through where observers would be stationed on the night of July 3rd so that any castle building was sure to be spotted. She did not want any gaps in the coverage and was employing a combination of bloggers, media outlets, and city employees to make sure she had eyes on all of Galveston’s sand.
“Practically the whole city will be on the lookout,” Julie bragged. “Kind of nice to bring people together for a common cause.”
“It better be worth all the overtime we’re paying,” Tosh replied. “I need to see a spike in restaurant receipts.”
“So where will you be?” Julie asked Tosh. “You want to join me for the stakeout? I’ll be in one of the hot zones.”
Tosh shrugged his shoulders. “If everyone else is doing it, I guess I better join in.”
On the night of July 3rd, Tosh showed up in the parking lot for East Beach. The narrow strip of land comprising Galveston ran diagonally from southwest to northeast. East Beach was near the northeastern point.
Tosh wore a tie like he always did while he was working. He got in the backseat of the city vehicle being used by Julie and her assistant, Kaci, for surveillance. Julie and Kaci were dressed casually in shorts and polo shirts branded with the Galveston city logo.
Tosh pushed aside one of the open laptops on the seat and asked, “How’s it going? Any action yet?”
Julie held two phones in her hand and stared at an electronic tablet. “Not yet,” she replied. “But it hasn’t been dark for long. Did you have a hard time finding us?”
“No. The inside of your car kind of glows because of all the electronics you’re using.”
Julie looked over at Kaci. “Maybe we should darken the screens. We need to be in stealth mode so we don’t scare Banksy off.”
“Why did you pick East Beach?” Tosh asked. “Didn’t you say something about a hot zone?”
“I charted out all the earlier sandcastles, year by year. Banksy’s been moving northeast. This seemed like the most likely next spot. I’d love to catch him or her myself. That’s why we’re the only ones here. I sent everybody else farther south.” Julie held up the camera she intended to use to record the sandcastle building.
“What am I supposed to do?” asked Tosh.
Julie passed him a pair of binoculars. “Keep an eye out near the waves.”
Tosh stared through the binoculars at the darkness. His ears homed in on the sound of the crashing surf and the tapping noises made by Julie and Kaci on their phone screens. After about ten minutes, Tosh said, “This isn’t very exciting. I don’t have the patience to be a cop or a spy.”
“I’m already bored too,” Kaci replied.
“Come on guys. Think of how exciting it will be to solve a mystery,” Julie responded, trying to rally enthusiasm.
“How many people do you think we’re looking for?” Tosh asked.
“It’s got to be a whole team,” Julie replied. “But even with a bunch of people, I still don’t know how they work so fast. Since they’ve never been caught, they must spend less than an hour building. Makes me think they have a giant mold or something and they pour the sand into it. That means bringing in heavy equipment.”
“Shouldn’t be hard to spot,” Tosh concluded.
The stakeout team in the car grew quiet again. Tosh held the binoculars, but his head nodded back and forth as he slipped in and out of shallow consciousness. Julie and Kaci kept up a steady stream of messages to teams on other beaches. Every ten minutes, Julie tweeted an update to let the world know the mystery was still out there.
Around 1 am on July 4th, Tosh shook himself to full consciousness and said, “I think I’ve had enough. I’m not built for this. I’m heading home.” Before he could get out of the car, Julie’s and Kaci’s phones pinged with text messages.
“Don’t go yet. Something’s happening down by the pier,” Julie announced. “People building something. We should check it out.”
Kaci drove while Julie chattered excitedly about revealing the real Banksy. When they arrived at the pier, they discovered a group of teenagers surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. The teenagers carried buckets and primitive tools and dumped sand onto a mound as a dozen cameras recorded the action. After a few minutes, it was obvious they were amateurs who were incapable of creating a Banksy sculpture.
“It’s not them. They’re just messing around,” Julie said to Tosh and Kaci, sounding almost relieved.
“Now what?” Kaci asked.
“Back to East Beach.”
During the return drive, Julie grew panicked that the teenagers were an intentional distraction. “We’re going to get back and find a sandcastle, I just know it. And the Banksy team will be gone. We’re going to look so stupid.”
Despite Julie’s fears, East Beach looked bare and abandoned when they arrived. They exited the car and walked around the sand but saw no traces of a major construction project.
“Okay, that’s it for me,” Tosh said with a yawn. “It’s been fun, but I’ll leave the rest for you. I gotta get some sleep.” He walked to his car and drove away.
“Maybe Banksy won’t show up this year,” Kaci said when she returned to her surveillance station in the car.
“Don’t talk like that,” Julie replied.
In order to stay awake, she and Kaci chatted about favorite shows and people from the city office. Messages from the other beaches tapered off as the deep morning hours set in. About 4 am, another city employee stopped by with cups of coffee and verbal updates from other teams. In summary, the night had been surprisingly quiet.
“They have to be somewhere,” Julie said with a moan. “It’s impossible they skipped this year.”
“What if we scared them off?” Kaci suggested.
“We’re just not looking hard enough or we’re in the wrong places. You watch. They’ll show up somewhere.”
Julie and Kaci stayed where they were until sunrise. When the entire beach was softly illuminated, it was obvious no large sandcastles were hiding behind lifeguard shacks or elevated dunes. Watchers down the coast reported the same thing.
Julie began to seriously worry. She had barely considered the possibility of no sandcastle appearing. Banksy had been so predictable. The absence of a July 4th sandcastle would be a complete embarrassment for Galveston and she would get the blame. Not only had she chased away Banksy, she had wasted time and money. No one liked to be fooled. The media outlets were going to roast her.
“Are we sure nothing showed up? Not even a little sand sculpture?” Julie asked Kaci.
“Not that anyone is reporting.”
“This is the worst. I’ll probably get fired. I should go home and start packing up my stuff.”
“So we’re done? Should I drive back to city hall?”
“I guess,” Julie replied, sounding completely defeated.
When Kaci and Julie borrowed the city vehicle, they left their own cars in the three-story concrete parking garage next to their offices. Kaci returned to the garage without hearing Julie speak another word. When Kaci reached the entrance, she noticed a little trail of sand leading out into the street.
“That’s funny. I wonder where that came from,” Kaci mumbled to herself.
The sand trail grew wider as Kaci moved farther into the abandoned garage. The unexpected sand also caught Julie’s attention. She rose from her defeated slump and leaned closer to the windshield.
Kaci turned and followed the ramp to the structure’s second floor. Sitting directly in front of her was a mound of sand reaching from floor to ceiling. As she got closer, she realized the sand was not simply a pile. It had shape and structure. The Banksy sandcastle had been built inside the city’s parking garage.
Kaci stopped the car. She and Julie got out and walked up for a closer look at the sculpture. “Why would they put it here?” Kaci asked aloud.
“Everyone was gone. They had the place to themselves,” Julie said with a laugh. “I can’t believe it. Very smart.”
“What is it?” asked Kaci, circling the sand figures on the floor.
“Those are geese!” Julie cried with another laugh. “And eggs. I think maybe it’s a message. The goose and the golden egg story.”
“Weird. I don’t get it.”
“It’s amazing!” Julie laughed again and raised her hands to the top of her head. “I’m saved! Call everyone and tell them to meet us at the parking garage. And I promise to never try and find Banksy again!”
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