 When I ran my previous Farrah Fawcett page, I had a bad habit of responding to people who clearly were not there to contribute anything useful. Someone would leave a rude comment, insult Farrah, take a cheap shot at another person, or deliberately try to provoke an argument, and I would respond. Sometimes I wanted to correct the record. Sometimes I disagreed with what they were saying. Sometimes the comment was so obnoxious that I felt it deserved an answer. Looking back, I can see that responding usually accomplished very little. I was giving attention to someone whose only real contribution to the page was disruption.
I am not doing that this time. Farrah Fawcett Fandom will be a respectful page for people who actually want to be there. That doesn't mean everyone has to agree with me, and it certainly doesn't mean every discussion has to be polite in the sense of being bland or meaningless. People can disagree with something I write. They can challenge an argument, question an interpretation, prefer another actress, another season of Charlie’s Angels, or another part of Farrah’s career. None of that bothers me. Disagreement can be interesting. Sometimes it even gives me something new to think about. What I am no longer interested in is confusing disagreement with disrespect. There is a difference between saying, “I do not agree with this,” and coming onto a Farrah page simply to insult Farrah, mock another fan, demean someone’s opinion, or leave a comment designed to start a fight. I spent nearly four years running a large Facebook page, and I already know where those conversations usually go. They rarely become more thoughtful. They usually become louder, more personal, and more pointless. One rude comment becomes five more, then ten people argue about something that has almost nothing to do with the original post. Meanwhile, the person who started it has received exactly what they wanted: attention. This time, my response will be much simpler. If you come onto the page and behave like that, I will delete the comment and block you. I won't argue with you. I won't explain why I deleted it. I won't give you three warnings or spend half an hour trying to convince you to behave differently. The comment will disappear, your access to the page will disappear, and nobody else will ever know you were there. I don't see that as censorship, and I don't see it as an inability to handle criticism. A Facebook page is not a public courtroom where every person who walks through the door is entitled to unlimited access. It is a space I created, maintain, research for, write for, and spend my time building. I have every right to decide what kind of environment I want that space to become. If someone wants to run a page built around insults, personal attacks, and endless arguments, they are free to create one. That is not what I am building. One of the biggest things I learned from running the old page is that moderation is not just about removing bad behavior after it happens. It is about setting the tone before bad behavior becomes the page's culture. The overwhelming majority of people who followed my previous page were thoughtful, supportive, funny, curious, and genuinely interested in Farrah. A very small number of people could still consume an enormous amount of time if I allowed them to. I am not interested in giving that small group that kind of influence again. So the rule is very simple. Be respectful to Farrah. Be respectful to the people who are here. Disagree when you want to disagree, but contribute something worth reading. If your only purpose is to insult, provoke, or make the page unpleasant for everyone else, there will not be an argument waiting for you this time. There will just be an empty space where your comment used to be.
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 I have spent a considerable amount of time over the past year asking questions about the two Farrah Fawcett statues being developed in South Texas, but I have not addressed another question nearly as often: what happens when I finally get the answers I have been looking for? What happens if the remaining questions about funding, commissioning, design choices, consultation, and the possible relationship between the Corpus Christi and Rockport projects are eventually resolved? The answer is actually very simple. I report what I learn, correct anything that needs correcting, and stop treating answered questions as unanswered ones.
That may sound obvious, but it is worth stating because research can sometimes be mistaken for advocacy. Once someone has taken a public position, people assume every new piece of information will somehow be forced into that position. That is not what I am trying to do here. I have never needed these projects to turn out badly for the research to be worthwhile. I have never needed to discover a hidden connection between the two statues, an improper funding arrangement, or some deliberate effort to reduce Farrah Fawcett to Charlie’s Angels. I have been asking questions because I did not have the answers, and because those answers matter when we are talking about permanent public representations of someone’s life. One of the most important questions for me has always been whether anyone genuinely connected to Farrah had a meaningful voice in the concepts themselves. I want to know whether her family, estate, Foundation, or others who knew her well reviewed these ideas and supported them before they became permanent monuments. There is a difference between being told about a project after the concept has already been developed and actually participating in the decision about how someone will be represented. My concern has never been that I personally should decide what a Farrah Fawcett memorial looks like. I do not believe that. What matters is whether the people who actually knew Farrah, understood her wishes, or were entrusted with protecting her legacy had a meaningful voice in the process. If I eventually receive reliable confirmation that they did, that changes things for me. I may still prefer a different artistic direction. I may still believe Farrah’s life, career, art, and personality were much larger than Jill Munroe and one season of Charlie’s Angels. I may still think two permanent monuments in the same region, returning to the same period of her life, reinforce a narrower public memory than I would have chosen. However, personal preference is not the same thing as the factual record. If people with a legitimate connection to Farrah reviewed these concepts and supported them, I would respect that and report it clearly. The same applies to the other questions I have been asking. If the Corpus Christi and Rockport projects are completely independent, I will say so. If the donors or organizers do not overlap, I will say so. If the funding for each sculpture is straightforward, the commissions are properly documented, the licensing questions have been resolved, and the approval processes are exactly what the organizers say they are, then those questions stop being questions. There would be no reason to continue raising them simply because they were once part of the research. In fact, that is the outcome I prefer. I did not begin this project hoping to spend months reading municipal records, filing public-information requests, comparing timelines, tracing names, and trying to determine how two separate statue projects developed. I began by contacting Tom Campbell in February because I wanted to understand the Corpus Christi concept and explain why I was concerned about permanently representing Farrah through Jill Munroe. I offered alternatives, provided historical context, and offered to talk. Had I received a thoughtful response then, even one explaining why he disagreed with me, I likely never would have gone much farther. Instead, the questions remained, and eventually the only practical way to answer them was to follow the record. Then I learned about the second statue in Rockport, also by David Deming and also based on Charlie’s Angels imagery, and the scope of the research changed completely. At that point, I believed it was reasonable to ask whether the two projects were connected, whether any of the same people were involved, who was funding the second sculpture, who selected its concept, and whether anyone representing Farrah’s interests had participated in either decision. Those questions did not come from a desire to accuse anyone of wrongdoing. They came from the fact that two similar permanent monuments were suddenly being developed in nearby communities and the public record did not clearly explain how that happened. I also want to repeat something I have said throughout this process. I have no reason to believe the people behind these projects have bad intentions. In fact, I believe they are sincere. I appreciate that they want to honor Farrah, and I am sure many of them are wonderful people who have invested considerable time, money, and effort into creating something they believe is meaningful. My disagreement with certain choices has never required me to question their character. However, good intentions do not automatically answer questions about process, and they do not automatically determine the effect a permanent monument may have on public memory. That is why I have kept asking. Two monuments can influence how Farrah is remembered, whether anyone consciously intends to reshape her legacy or not. If both permanently return Farrah to the same narrow period of her life, then I think it is reasonable to understand how those choices were made. However, if the answers show that those choices were considered carefully, that Farrah’s representatives were involved, and that the people closest to her support the result, then I am completely prepared to say that as well. Research should not become an exercise in protecting an argument after the evidence changes. For me, that is really the test of whether this work has any value. If I only report information that supports what I already believe, then I am not researching anything. I am building a case. Those are not the same thing. The purpose of asking a question is to eventually reach the point where it can be answered, and once a reliable answer exists, the responsibility is to follow it wherever it leads. So what happens when most or all of my questions are finally answered? I report the answers. I update anything that needs updating. I separate whatever personal opinion remains from what the evidence now establishes, and if the central concerns that drove this research are resolved, then the research ends. That would not mean the months of work were wasted. It would mean the research did exactly what it was supposed to do. I have never needed this story to end a certain way. I simply want to know what actually happened.  After months of researching the two proposed Farrah Fawcett statues in South Texas, I have reached the point where I am running out of places to look. I have reviewed the available public records, news coverage, promotional material, statements from the organizations involved, correspondence, photographs, city documents, and the explanations offered for both projects. I have asked questions directly and filed public-information requests. Some of those questions have been answered. Others have not. But one question has remained surprisingly difficult to answer from the beginning: Who decided that Farrah Fawcett should be permanently represented through Charlie’s Angels?
I am not asking who approved the Corpus Christi location, who agreed to accept the donated sculpture, who is raising money in Rockport, or who was selected to create the statues. Those parts of the story are considerably easier to document. I am asking about the decision that came before all of that—the creative decision that determined what these monuments would actually say about Farrah. Who decided that the appropriate permanent representation of Farrah Fawcett would be Jill Munroe twice, in two different South Texas communities, using two images drawn from the same brief period of her life? That question is more important than some might think because these are not temporary exhibitions, magazine photographs, or nostalgic social-media posts. They are intended to become permanent public monuments. Once bronze is placed in a public space, the image chosen begins doing something very different. It tells future visitors what was considered important enough about a person to preserve. It reduces an entire life into a visual statement. That makes the process behind choosing that statement worth understanding, particularly when the person being memorialized spent decades after Charlie’s Angels building a career that extended far beyond it. Yet I have found almost no explanation of how that choice was made. There are descriptions of the statues, discussions of Farrah’s Texas roots, references to her celebrity, information about the sculptor, and explanations of where the works will be installed. What I have not found is a documented process showing how the central concepts were developed. I have seen no public record showing that different representations of Farrah were seriously considered, no discussion comparing Charlie’s Angels with her dramatic acting career, her artwork, her Texas identity, her later accomplishments, or the other parts of her life that might have provided the basis for a monument. That absence has eventually forced me to consider a much simpler possibility: What if there was never an extensive consultation process to uncover? What if the people behind these projects thought of Farrah Fawcett, thought of Charlie’s Angels, selected recognizable images and moved forward from there? That is a hypothesis. It is not a conclusion. A lack of documentation does not prove that conversations never occurred. Private discussions may have taken place that I have never seen. People involved with the projects may have emails, meeting notes, or firsthand knowledge that would fully answer the question. There may have been careful consideration that never entered the records available to me. If that evidence exists, I would welcome it because the purpose of research is not to protect a theory after better information becomes available. The purpose is to follow the evidence wherever it leads. But the opposite is also true. The possibility that something happened cannot be substituted for evidence that it did. After spending months examining these projects, I cannot point to anything in the public record showing a meaningful process in which the fundamental question was asked: What should a permanent monument to Farrah Fawcett actually represent? That does not mean nobody asked it. It means I cannot document that they did. The Corpus Christi project makes the question especially interesting because the sculpture appears to have reached the city as a largely developed private proposal. The Friends of Farrah Fawcett selected sculptor David Deming and proposed a specific Charlie’s Angels image of Farrah skateboarding. The city’s role, as reflected in the records I have reviewed, centered largely on accepting the proposed donation, determining the location, and establishing the responsibilities connected with installation and maintenance. That is not inherently improper. Private groups donate public art all the time. But it also means that the most consequential creative decision may have occurred before the governmental process. I tried to learn more about that earlier stage. I contacted Tom Campbell three times and received no response. I later submitted extensive questions through the Rockport Cultural Arts District and was told, in effect, that those questions would not be answered. I do not treat anyone’s silence as proof of anything. People and organizations are under no obligation to participate in my research simply because I ask them to. But silence cannot fill a documentary gap either. If the public record does not explain how the concept was selected and the people closest to the project choose not to explain it, then the question remains exactly where it was. Rockport raises a similar issue. There, Farrah is being represented through the familiar praying-hands promotional pose associated with Charlie’s Angels. Again, there are public explanations connecting Farrah to South Texas and describing the statue and accompanying exhibition. What I have not found is a clear account of who selected that particular image, what alternatives were discussed, what criteria were used, or whether anyone stepped back and considered what it meant to create a second permanent Farrah Fawcett statue, roughly thirty miles from the first, based once again on Charlie’s Angels. That repetition is what makes the question increasingly difficult for me to ignore. One statue built around Charlie’s Angels could easily be explained as nostalgia. Two statues, created by the same sculptor, appearing in neighboring South Texas communities at roughly the same time and both drawing from the same television identity, begin to look less like isolated artistic choices and more like a shared way of defining Farrah. Perhaps there is a documented reason for that. If there is, I have not found it. And that may be the simplest explanation for why months of research have not uncovered some elaborate origin story behind these concepts: perhaps there was no elaborate origin story. Perhaps people with good intentions wanted to honor Farrah, reached for the most immediately recognizable version of her, and never imagined that the choice itself would later become a subject of scrutiny. That would not require conspiracy, misconduct, or bad faith. It would require only something much more ordinary—the assumption that the most famous image of a person is automatically the best image through which to memorialize them. If that is what happened, it would also explain why so much information exists about the projects while so little seems to exist about the decision at their center. We know who the sculptor is. We know where the statues are intended to stand. We know the images being reproduced. We know who some of the organizers and donors are. What remains remarkably difficult to determine is who decided that these particular representations were the right ones and what, if anything, was considered before that decision was made. This is where my research reaches its limit. I can keep searching the same available sources, but research must eventually acknowledge the boundary between what can be documented and what cannot. I am not going to fill that boundary with assumptions simply because I would prefer a definitive answer. The responsible conclusion is that the public record I have examined does not currently explain the process behind the most important creative decision in either project. Perhaps publishing the question will accomplish what additional searching has not. Someone involved may eventually provide documents, correspondence, or firsthand information showing exactly how these concepts were developed. If that happens, I will examine it and, if necessary, revise my understanding accordingly. That is how a research record should work. Until then, I am left not with an accusation, but with a question that has survived everything I have been able to find: How did two permanent Farrah Fawcett monuments, in two South Texas communities, come to represent essentially the same brief chapter of her life—and who decided that was the story the bronze should tell? Image above: Preliminary model of the Farrah Fawcett statue by David Deming alongside an original Charlie’s Angels promotional photograph.  Over the past several weeks, I have asked many questions about the two Farrah Fawcett statues being developed in South Texas. I have contacted people connected with the projects, submitted requests for records and information, reviewed public statements, examined the source imagery, and begun organizing what I have learned into a dedicated section of The Farrah Fawcett Fandom. As that work has expanded, it is important to explain what I'm trying to accomplish and, just as importantly, what I am not.
My opposition to the statues as they are presently conceived is already well documented. I have written about the choice of Charlie’s Angels imagery, the likenesses shown during development, and my larger concerns about reducing Farrah’s public legacy to the television image that first made her famous. I do not need to repeat those arguments every time I discuss the projects. The purpose of this campaign, however, goes beyond those objections. I want to understand how these two permanent representations of Farrah came into existence and create a record of what can actually be established about the decisions behind them. I want to know why particular images were chosen, how the projects developed, who participated in the important decisions, what consultation occurred, what alternatives were considered, and how those choices were ultimately reached. Some of that information may be available through public records or direct responses. Some of it may remain within private discussions that I have no right or ability to access. I have no intention of filling those gaps with assumptions. If something cannot be established, the record should say exactly that rather than turning an unanswered question into an unsupported conclusion. For this reason, getting answers is not the final purpose of this campaign. The answers are evidence that can be examined along with everything else. If every question I have submitted were answered tomorrow, I would not suddenly have nothing left to do. I would have a much clearer record from which to evaluate the projects. I could compare the explanations with the decisions that were actually made, determine whether those explanations address the concerns I have raised, and revise my understanding where the information justifies doing so. An answer does not have to agree with my position to be valuable. The point is to know what the answer is and preserve it accurately. The same principle will apply when the statues are completed. Until then, much of the discussion necessarily concerns proposals, development images, statements, and intentions. Once the finished sculptures are publicly unveiled, there will be something concrete to examine. The likenesses can be compared with the photographs they were based on, the final presentation can be evaluated against what was shown during development, and the public reaction can be documented. If people praise the statues, that response belongs in the record. If people criticize them, that belongs there as well. I am not interested in creating an archive that preserves only the reactions that support my own argument. Documentation and agreement are not the same thing. I have a position on these projects, and I am not going to disguise it to create the appearance of neutrality. At the same time, having a position does not relieve me of the responsibility to distinguish between what I believe, what the available evidence establishes, and what remains unknown. That makes the criticism stronger, not weaker. Anyone can object to something. A documented argument should also show how the conclusion was reached and where the limits of the evidence remain. There is also a practical reason for doing this work now. Public monuments can remain in place long after the history behind their creation has been forgotten. Years from now, someone may encounter one of these statues without knowing why that particular image of Farrah was selected, who commissioned it, what discussions surrounded it, what objections were raised, or how the work was received when it was unveiled. Reconstructing that history later becomes much more difficult. Documents disappear, websites change, memories become less reliable, and people who participated in the process may no longer be available to explain what happened. I would rather document that history while it is happening. The statue section of The Farrah Fawcett Fandom can preserve the questions, responses, correspondence, available records, public statements, source images, development of the sculptures, finished works, and eventual public reaction in one place. It can also preserve the limits of what could be established. If an organization declines to answer a question or a particular record does not exist, that is different from proving that something did or did not happen. Maintaining those distinctions is part of creating a useful record. The campaign also has an endpoint. I am not interested in asking the same questions indefinitely or turning these statues into a permanent dispute simply because I disagree with them. Eventually, the available questions will have been answered as fully as they can be, the sculptures will be completed, and the public will have had an opportunity to respond. At that point, I should be able to look back at the entire process and explain what happened, what could not be established, what the people behind the projects said they were trying to accomplish, and whether the finished monuments support those explanations. That is ultimately what this campaign is about. I cannot control what is built in Corpus Christi or Rockport, and I cannot determine how future generations will interpret these monuments. What I can do is make sure that the history of how they were created is not reduced to a plaque, a press release, or a photograph of an unveiling. The statues will present one interpretation of Farrah Fawcett, while my purpose is to preserve the record of how that interpretation was created, why it was questioned, how those involved explained or defended it, and how the finished monuments were ultimately received. Image above: Reinterpretation of both statues being proposed for Corpus Christi and Rockport.  When I closed my Farrah Fawcett Facebook page in June 2026, I was confident I was done. I had spent four years building that page into something much larger than I ever expected, and I genuinely enjoyed parts of the experience. I loved finding material, sharing photographs and videos, watching people rediscover Farrah's work, and seeing how much interest in her life still existed. However, by the time I shut down the page, those enjoyable parts were being overtaken by everything that came with maintaining such a large Facebook community.
The biggest problem for me was the constant responsibility for the comment section. When a page becomes large enough, comments are no longer simply people reacting to a post. They become something that has to be watched, managed, answered, deleted, corrected, and sometimes refereed. Arguments develop between people that have nothing to do with the original subject; someone eventually says something inappropriate, and suddenly I am dealing with an online dispute instead of spending my time on the things that interested me in the first place. After several years of doing that, I was exhausted. For this reason, when I recently decided to create another Facebook page, I knew from the beginning that I did not want to recreate the old one. The new page has a new name because my goals have changed. I am still interested in sharing Farrah photographs, videos, archival material, artwork, and interesting pieces from her career, but those things now exist within a much larger project. Over the past year, my attention has increasingly shifted toward primary sources, books, interviews, transcripts, historical records, long-form writing, and the broader questions surrounding how Farrah's life and legacy are being represented. The two statue projects in South Texas currently underway ultimately convinced me to return to Facebook. Until they developed, I was comfortable keeping most of my research and opinions on the website. The statues changed that because they made me realize that Farrah's legacy is not merely being remembered or discussed. It is being actively shaped and, in some cases, made permanent in ways I never imagined possible when I began researching her life. My concern is not simply that two statues are being created, but what those monuments represent. Decisions are being made about which period of Farrah's life will become dominant, which images will represent her publicly, and what someone unfamiliar with her life may take away from those monuments years from now. A public monument does more than honor someone. It also makes an argument about how that person should be remembered. That brought me back to a question that now runs through much of my research: who gets to decide which parts of a person's life survive after that person is gone? The statues are the most visible example, but documentaries, articles, AI-generated images, fan narratives, exhibitions, and other public projects can also shape how Farrah is understood after her death. Once I began looking at the issue that way, I no longer felt that expressing my concerns on the website alone was enough. I wanted my research and writing to be part of that conversation while these choices were still being made. I don't expect everyone to agree with me, nor do I believe my interpretation should automatically replace someone else's. However, when I believe Farrah's choices and agency are being overlooked, I want to explain why and show the material that led me to that conclusion. My research is also going much deeper than anything I was doing when I started the original page. I have accumulated a large database of material covering Farrah's life and career, and going through it properly requires a significant amount of time. Interviews have to be watched and transcribed, articles have to be read, dates and statements have to be compared, television appearances have to be located, and conflicting accounts sometimes have to be examined against one another before I can determine what the available record actually supports. The more material I collect, the more apparent it becomes that serious research cannot be rushed simply to satisfy the demands of social media. The website remains better suited to that kind of work. I can develop an argument there, explain how I reached a conclusion, examine conflicting information, and give a subject the amount of space it actually requires. This has become especially important as I have started writing about artificial intelligence being used to manufacture images and videos of Farrah, the tendency to reduce her career back to Charlie's Angels, and the broader question of how her life is being interpreted after her death. These are complicated subjects, and they cannot always be addressed responsibly in a photograph caption or a few lines of Facebook text. As part of this expansion, I am also developing new coverage of Charlie's Angels on the website that will look at the complete five-season series rather than limiting the discussion to Farrah's first season. I plan to share images from Seasons 1 through 5 and write about the episodes, performances, characters, cast changes, and the actresses who helped shape the program throughout its run. That includes Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith, Cheryl Ladd, Shelley Hack, Tanya Roberts, and the other performers who contributed to the series. Farrah remains the central subject of my overall project, but Charlie's Angels has an important place within her career, and understanding that history requires looking beyond 1976 and 1977. There is also a practical research reason for studying the entire series. To understand Farrah's contribution to Charlie's Angels, I need something to compare her season against. Looking at what happened after she left the regular cast allows me to examine changes in the writing, character relationships, story structure, tone, and balance among the three leads. What was distinctive about Jill Munroe? What changed when Cheryl Ladd joined the series? Which characteristics remained consistent throughout the five-year run, and which evolved as the cast changed? Those questions are much easier to examine when the entire series is available for comparison. However, expanding my coverage of Charlie's Angels does not mean I am interested in returning to the same fan-page dialogue that has surrounded the show for decades. I have no desire to spend my time arguing over why someone hates Shelley Hack, who was the best Angel, who was the hottest Angel, which lineup was superior, or revisiting complaints that Farrah should never have left the series. I have already seen enough discussions ranking the actresses against one another and turning every cast change into another popularity contest. Those conversations may interest some fans, but I find them petty and, in many cases, little more than low-grade tactics for generating clicks and followers. I also know that some of the essays I write will not please everyone. Some people will love them, some will hate them, and others will disagree with the conclusions I reach. I am completely comfortable with that. My objective is not to produce writing that everyone agrees with or to protect a familiar version of Farrah simply because it has become comfortable within fandom. My goal is to examine the available record as carefully as I can and, above all else, preserve Farrah's agency at any cost. For me, that principle has become central to the entire project. Farrah was a person who made decisions about her career, her image, her relationships, her work, and the direction of her own life. Preserving her agency does not mean pretending every decision she made was correct, avoiding uncomfortable material, or turning her into a flawless figure who must be defended from criticism. In fact, doing that would diminish her in a different way. It means taking her choices seriously, allowing contradictions to remain when the record supports them, and resisting the temptation to replace the person with whatever version of Farrah is easiest, most popular, or most convenient. This is where the new Facebook page fits into what I am doing now. I no longer want Facebook to be the center of the project, but I do want it to give the research a public voice when something important is happening around Farrah's legacy. I can share an interesting video, introduce a new essay, post something from the archive, share material from Charlie's Angels, or direct someone toward something on the website they might not otherwise find. Facebook can support the project without becoming the project. One of the most important changes is that I am not going to create a posting schedule to keep the page active. If I have something worth sharing, I will share it. If I am buried in research for several days or even a week, the page can remain quiet. Silence on Facebook does not mean the project has stopped. More than likely, it means I am transcribing an interview, working through a difficult source, researching an essay, comparing information, or organizing material that may eventually appear on the website. I would rather publish something worthwhile less often than post simply because the platform rewards constant activity. Comments will also be handled differently. Some posts may remain open, particularly videos, photographs, television appearances, or lighter material where people want to react or share a memory. I may leave comments open when something is first posted and close them later, while subjects that routinely turn into arguments may have comments restricted or closed altogether. There will not be one permanent rule because I no longer believe every post has to become an indefinitely open public forum. More importantly, leaving comments open does not mean I am agreeing to debate everyone who disagrees with something I write. If I publish a detailed essay explaining why I object to a particular statue project, the argument is already contained in the essay. Someone is free to disagree, but I do not need to reproduce the entire argument beneath the Facebook post each time an objection appears. Disagreement is part of writing about complicated subjects, and I would rather have someone disagree with a position I actually believe than alter that position to make a comment section more agreeable. I also no longer feel responsible for correcting every inaccurate statement that appears beneath a post. With the amount of material I have collected, I will inevitably see comments that conflict with what I have found in interviews, documents, or other sources. In the past, I often felt compelled to jump in and correct those claims. However, if something is important enough to address, I would rather examine it properly on the website, present the evidence, and explain why I agree or disagree. A Facebook comment thread is rarely the best place to conduct serious historical analysis. The same applies to claims that an image I post is fake. I am not going to spend my time defending photographs every time someone does not recognize an image or assumes it must be artificial because they have never seen it before. My knowledge of Farrah imagery is extensive, and I know the difference between an authentic photograph, an altered image, and an illustration created specifically for a blog post. An illustration used to represent the subject of an essay is not the same thing as presenting a fabricated photograph as a real historical event. The distinction is clear, and I am not going to debate it every time someone makes an unsupported accusation in a Facebook comment. I am also stepping away from giveaways. I enjoyed doing them in the past, but they required far more time and money than most people probably realized. There was the planning, acquiring or preparing items, creating the posts, tracking entries, choosing winners, contacting people, packaging everything, and getting it mailed out. None of those steps is particularly difficult by itself, but taken together they become another administrative job attached to the page. At this stage of the project, I would rather put those hours into the archive, the website, and the writing. I don't need another Facebook page to prove I can generate reach. My previous page generated between 23 and 50 million views a year, so I have already experienced what happens when the numbers become large enough to influence how you think about posting. It becomes very easy to start asking what will perform well instead of what is actually worth sharing. You begin feeding the platform because the page has been quiet rather than because you have something meaningful to add. Those numbers can certainly be impressive, but they can also become a distraction when maintaining them begins influencing the direction of the project. For this reason, I am not setting a follower target for the new page. If the page grows, that is fine. If it remains considerably smaller but brings interested readers to the website and gives me another place to share material I believe is worthwhile, it will still be doing exactly what I created it to do. My priorities are much clearer now. I want to continue building a substantial Farrah Fawcett research archive, work through the enormous amount of material I have collected, and write essays that examine her life and career with more depth than I could ever achieve through Facebook alone. I also want to study Charlie's Angels more seriously as a complete television series and write about all five seasons and the performers who contributed to it. However, I do not want any of this to become relentlessly serious. Sometimes a great Farrah video is enjoyable to watch, an old television appearance is worth sharing because it has not been seen in years, or a photograph from Charlie's Angels is interesting without requiring an essay to explain it. There is room for both. What I no longer have room for is allowing social media management to consume the time needed for everything else. Comments, messages, giveaways, constant posting, follower targets, and the pressure to maintain engagement can each become projects of their own if I let them. I spent four years learning what I enjoyed about running a large Farrah page and what I absolutely hated. After that experience, it would make very little sense to return and immediately rebuild the same structure that eventually caused me to leave. The new Facebook page is another way to share my work while keeping the website and research where they belong: at the center of the project. The statues convinced me that I still wanted a public voice, especially as Farrah's legacy is being shaped in ways I believe deserve closer examination. I have no interest in rebuilding the page I had before. This time, Facebook will be a tool for sharing the work and joining that conversation without letting the platform itself control the project.  I’m currently working through the entire first season of Charlie’s Angels episode by episode for a larger essay on how the series actually represented Farrah Fawcett during her year as Jill Munroe. Rather than relying on what the show has come to represent culturally, I want to look at the season itself. How was Jill written? What kinds of stories was Farrah given? How often was she asked to do serious dramatic work, and how much of the character depended on image, humor, action, or sexuality? Before reaching any conclusion about why Farrah wanted to leave, I think the material itself needs to be examined first.
Once I finish reviewing the season, I plan to compare what appears on screen with Farrah’s later explanations for leaving the series. The public story of her departure has been repeated so many times that it's easy to accept a simplified version without going back to the actual work she was doing. If Farrah felt limited by the role, frustrated by typecasting, or interested in pursuing more serious material, then the first season should give us something concrete to measure those concerns against. This does not mean I am approaching the season with the assumption that Charlie’s Angels failed Farrah. In fact, part of the reason for reviewing every episode is to avoid making that conclusion in advance. Some episodes may give Jill more substance than people remember, and others may help explain why Farrah eventually wanted something different. The point is to separate the series' reputation from what the episodes actually show. For this reason, the essay will be less about whether Charlie’s Angels was “good” or “bad” for Farrah and more about what one full season tells us about the role she became famous for. Only after looking at that evidence does it make sense to return to Farrah’s decision to leave and ask whether her reasons are visible in the work itself. 9/5/2026 A Missed Opportunity The proposed Corpus Christi Farrah Fawcett statue has no visible connection to the people commissioning and funding it. The Friends of Farrah Fawcett have emphasized that this project comes from people who knew Farrah personally, including friends and classmates whose relationships with her began before she became famous. That should give the group something unusually valuable as they decide how to memorialize her. They knew a Farrah most of the public never did. Yet none of that history appears in the monument they chose. Instead, it returns her to Jill Munroe on a skateboard, an image from Charlie’s Angels that virtually anyone familiar with Farrah could have selected. That is where the disconnect begins. Their relationship with Farrah predates Charlie’s Angels, the red swimsuit poster, and Farrah Fawcett's transformation into an international celebrity. If that history helps explain why they wanted to create a memorial, it is reasonable to ask why it appears to have played almost no role in determining what the memorial would actually say. The people behind this project have personal memories of Farrah that most of us do not, yet the current concept communicates none of them. The specific image makes the choice even stranger. The skateboard sequence comes from Consenting Adults, an episode in which Jill Munroe goes undercover, posing as a prostitute while investigating a dating service connected to prostitution and burglary. That does not make the episode objectionable, nor is the skateboard itself inherently problematic. But context is important when an image is selected for permanent display. Of all the periods, experiences, photographs, and memories available to people who knew Farrah before fame, why was this the moment they chose to preserve in bronze in her hometown? The location creates another problem. The statue is planned for the Corpus Christi seawall, a highly visible waterfront setting whose stated advantages include lighting, parking, accessibility, and public exposure. Those are sensible, practical considerations for public art, but they are not biographical ones. The seawall does not appear to have any meaningful connection to Farrah’s life. It is a good place for people to see a statue, but it does not help explain who Farrah was or what particular part of her story Corpus Christi is uniquely positioned to preserve. That becomes even more revealing when you consider that an earlier mermaid concept was discussed in a January 2026 article in The Island Moon. Tom Campbell said one possible location was land owned by the Port of Corpus Christi, but the Port required the sculpture to fit a nautical theme. According to Campbell, sculptor David Deming responded by designing a new version of Farrah as a mermaid. The idea was abandoned, but its existence says something important about the process. At least temporarily, Farrah herself could be reshaped to accommodate a location’s requirements. Rather than beginning with her life and asking where that story belonged, the process could move in the opposite direction: begin with a site and determine what version of Farrah could fit it. That seems backward for a biographical memorial. The first questions should be about the person: Who was she? What did this community share with her? What part of her life does this place have a particular responsibility to remember? Corpus Christi had no shortage of meaningful material. Farrah grew up there and attended W.B. Ray High School. Before Hollywood, before Jill Munroe, and before millions of people knew her face, Corpus Christi knew her as a daughter, student, classmate, and young woman whose life was still taking shape. A memorial connected to W.B. Ray, or even to a nearby public space associated with that period of her life, would have carried immediate biographical meaning. The statue would not have needed to portray Farrah as a teenager or stand directly on school property. The significance would have come from connecting the monument to places that were actually part of her life and to the period her hometown genuinely shared with her. The University of Texas, where Farrah studied art before leaving for California, offers another example of how a location could have reflected a meaningful chapter rather than simply maximizing visibility. There is nothing unusual about approaching a memorial this way. At the Elvis Presley Birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi, Elvis is represented in bronze as a 13-year-old boy, reflecting the period of his life that actually belonged to Tupelo rather than the jumpsuited superstar the world later knew. Purdue University made a similar choice with Neil Armstrong. Instead of depicting the most famous astronaut in history in a spacesuit, Purdue represents Armstrong as a college student, the young man who actually walked that campus. In both cases, the statue tells people something about that part of the person’s life instead of simply repeating the image they already know. Corpus Christi could have done the same for Farrah. The city did not need Charlie’s Angels to explain why she mattered there. It had something more valuable: the places connected to her early life and people who knew her before Hollywood. A younger Farrah connected to her school years, artistic interests, or ambitions could have shown the public something specific to Corpus Christi and the people behind the project. That is why I see the statue as such a missed opportunity. Friendship explains why these people wanted to honor Farrah, but none of that friendship is visible in the monument they commissioned. Corpus Christi provides a genuine connection to her early life, yet the chosen site does little with that history. The people behind the project had access to a story that could only have come from them and places that were genuinely part of Farrah’s life, but neither appears to have driven the final concept. Instead, even Corpus Christi has returned her to Charlie’s Angels. The people who knew Farrah before Jill Munroe had an opportunity to show the world the Farrah they remembered. They chose the Farrah everyone already knows. Image above: Conceptual AI-generated image of a bronze memorial depicting Farrah Fawcett during her University of Texas years, 1965–1968. The statue presents her as a young student and artist carrying books on campus, illustrating how a memorial could connect Farrah to a meaningful period and place in her life rather than relying on her later Charlie’s Angels image.
 I’m currently working on a new long-form essay titled I Am Not Jill Munroe, prompted by plans for two Farrah Fawcett statues in South Texas. The more I examine these projects, the more I disagree with the decision to base both monuments on Charlie’s Angels imagery. Farrah played Jill Munroe for one season, yet these statues could take that brief period of her career and give it a permanence in bronze that Farrah spent much of her life trying to overcome.
After leaving Charlie’s Angels, Farrah spent the rest of her career proving that she was capable of far more than a single character. She pursued difficult dramatic roles, worked on stage, produced projects, fought against typecasting, and deliberately challenged the image that had made her famous almost overnight. She didn't address this once and then forget it. Her effort to establish an identity outside of Charlie’s Angels continued throughout her career, which makes the decision to return to that same imagery for two permanent public monuments difficult for me to understand. I have never denied the importance of Charlie’s Angels in Farrah’s history. The series made her famous, and Jill Munroe will always be part of her career. However, being the role that introduced Farrah to millions of people does not make it the best representation of everything that came afterward. One season of television should not define an entire life.  Over the past several weeks, I have been asking questions about the two Farrah Fawcett statues being developed in South Texas. My questions have focused on how these projects came together, who was consulted, how the imagery was selected, what role various organizations may have played, and what records exist documenting those decisions. Because these statues are intended to become permanent public representations of Farrah Fawcett, these are reasonable subjects for inquiry.
I never expected everyone involved with the projects to answer every question I submitted. Organizations can decline to participate in research, and there are many legitimate reasons why someone may not want to respond. They may not have the information, may not be authorized to discuss a particular issue, or may decide that they do not want to comment. I can accept that. What I did not expect was for my supposed relationship with other organizations to become part of the response. After I submitted a series of questions to the Rockport Cultural Arts District about the development of its Farrah Fawcett statue, including whether individuals or organizations connected to Farrah had been consulted or informed, Jennifer Day responded that they were not aware of any official role or spokesman designation I had with the Fawcett family, Friends of Farrah Fawcett, the Farrah Fawcett Foundation, or the Blanton Museum. She then stated that they were not answering my extensive questions and referred me to their website and social media for additional information. The immediate problem was that I had never claimed to represent any of those organizations. I submitted the questions independently as part of my research into Farrah Fawcett’s career, legacy, and public representation. At no point did I state that I was speaking for the Fawcett family, the Foundation, Friends of Farrah Fawcett, or the Blanton Museum. Asking whether one of those organizations had been contacted or consulted does not mean I am speaking on its behalf. Those are two completely different things. For example, if I ask whether the Farrah Fawcett Foundation was informed about a statue project, I am asking a factual question about how that project developed. I am not making a statement for the Foundation. Likewise, asking whether the Blanton Museum had any involvement does not require an official relationship with the museum. A researcher should be able to ask whether an institution participated in something without first proving that he represents the institution being discussed. Another problem is making assumptions about someone’s connections when those connections are unknown. I volunteered with the Farrah Fawcett Foundation for approximately four years. I also have an agreement with them involving several Farrah Fawcett Milton Greene images that I own the copyrights to and that have been made available for use in Foundation merchandise. This does not make me a spokesman for the Foundation, and I have never claimed that it does. However, it shows why it is unwise to assume someone’s relationship with an organization when the full history of that relationship is not documented. More importantly, none of this should have been necessary for me to explain. My connection to the Foundation has nothing to do with whether I am allowed to ask questions about a public statue. The inquiry should be evaluated on its own merits. If the questions are unreasonable, explain why. If the information is not available, say so. If the organization does not want to answer, decline. The discussion should not shift from the substance of the inquiry to an implied challenge over who the person asking is supposed to represent. That is where I believe the response became unnecessarily defensive. Unfortunately, one of the easiest ways to avoid a difficult inquiry is to divert attention toward the person making it. Who are you? Who do you represent? What authority do you have to ask this? Those questions may be relevant in some situations, but I do not believe this was one of them. I was not requesting confidential family information or pretending to act on behalf of an institution. I was asking how two public memorials came into existence. These statues are not private works that will remain inside someone’s home or studio. They are intended to exist in public settings and become part of the way Farrah Fawcett is represented and remembered. For this reason, questions about who commissioned them, how the imagery was chosen, who was consulted, how the artist was selected, and what documentation exists surrounding those decisions should not be treated as unusual or improper. I have decided to preserve my questions, records requests, and the responses I receive as part of the public record on my website. This record will include what was answered, what remained unanswered, documents that are produced, and any corrections that become necessary as new information comes in. That is the fairest way to approach the subject because readers can see what was actually asked and how each organization or individual chose to respond. I am not asking anyone involved with these projects to agree with my criticism, nor have I ever claimed to speak for anyone connected to Farrah Fawcett. I am researching two public statues and asking how they came into existence. Those questions should be judged by their substance and by the available evidence, not by an official title I never claimed to have.  Last night, I filed what I expect to be my final documents with the City of Corpus Christi regarding the proposed Farrah Fawcett memorial. I have also submitted public-information requests involving both the Corpus Christi and Rockport statue projects. At this point, I have said what I needed to say, requested the records I believe are relevant, and there is very little left for me to do except wait and see what happens. Reaching this stage has made it easier for me to say something I have probably avoided admitting to myself: this has been the hardest thing I have had to do since I started my Farrah project four years ago.
That difficulty has nothing to do with doubting why I did it. I remain confident in the concerns I raised, and in the experience I brought to them. I did not wake up one morning, see a statue I disliked, and decide to start a fight. I spent considerable time examining these projects, the available information, Farrah’s visual record, and the individuals involved before concluding that I could not simply ignore what concerned me. What has made this difficult is that I respect the people behind the effort. The Corpus Christi statue was organized through Friends of Farrah Fawcett, a group largely made up of former classmates and friends, with private money being used to fund the sculpture before it is donated to the City as permanent public art. There is something admirable about caring enough about Farrah to organize a memorial, raise the money, commission an artist, and spend years trying to create something permanent in her hometown. I understand why they are excited about it. For this reason, it would be much easier if I believed the project came from bad intentions. I do not. Those involved genuinely want to honor Farrah, and some days that has made me feel terrible about pushing back against something created out of affection. However, respecting the intention and agreeing with the result are two different things. The representation itself never stopped troubling me, and eventually I had to accept that both feelings could exist at the same time. My involvement also went beyond expressing an opinion about the statues. Under the Texas Public Information Act, I requested existing government records from Corpus Christi and Rockport that may show how each project developed, what materials were reviewed, who participated in the decisions, and how the projects reached their current stage. I approached both in essentially the same manner because I want to know what the record actually shows rather than fill the gaps with assumptions. There is another distinction that I believe is easy to overlook. Knowing Farrah personally and understanding Farrah’s audience are not the same thing. A friend can have memories, knowledge, and insight into Farrah that I could never claim, and I value that enormously. Running a large online community, however, teaches you something different. It reveals what the audience notices, what people respond to, what they reject, and how quickly something involving Farrah can move far beyond a small circle of dedicated fans. I spent four years watching that happen. Recently, I went back through some of my Facebook analytics I still have, and even I was surprised by the scale. Based on surviving weekly and 90-day data, I estimate that during its final year, my page generated somewhere between 25 and 50 million views. One video alone received more than one million views in seven days. I no longer have a complete annual Meta report, so I cannot claim an exact number. However, even the conservative end of that estimate was larger than I expected. Those numbers do not make my judgment automatically correct or diminish the personal knowledge of Farrah’s friends. They do mean that I have years of firsthand experience seeing what happens when Farrah’s image is placed before very large audiences. I know some people may be angry with me for challenging these projects, and others may hate me for it. I can live with that. What I hope they understand is that I did not do this because I wanted to interfere with something created by Farrah’s friends. I did it because I respect Farrah and care deeply about how she is represented, particularly when that representation is intended to become permanent. For now, I am going to give everyone involved time to respond as they choose. In a few weeks, I intend to begin publishing the documents I submitted, along with the public-information requests I filed, with personal or unnecessary private information removed where appropriate. As records come in from Corpus Christi and Rockport, I will write about what they actually show, what questions they clarify, and what remains unanswered. I do not feel victorious, and I am not particularly angry. Mostly, I feel relieved that I raised the concerns I believed needed to be raised while there was still time to do so. I continue to respect the people who wanted to honor Farrah, and in many ways that is exactly why this has been so difficult. I understand what they are trying to accomplish. I wish I could say I felt the same way about the representation they have chosen. If the Corpus Christi memorial goes forward as currently planned, I will be deeply saddened by how Farrah will be permanently represented in her hometown. That sadness will not come from seeing Farrah honored. I believe Corpus Christi should recognize her significance, and her connection to South Texas deserves celebration. What will trouble me is knowing that there was an opportunity to create something that reflected the complexity of the woman, artist, actress, and public figure Farrah became. Yet, the result may instead identify her with a commercial image from one brief period of her life. A bronze monument is not a temporary social-media post or a photograph that disappears when people stop sharing it. Once it becomes part of a city, it can shape how someone is remembered for generations. For this reason, I could not convince myself that staying quiet was the respectful thing to do. Whether anything changes is no longer up to me, but I know why I spoke up, and I am more than comfortable living with that decision. |
AuthorJames Cowman is the founder and editor of Farrah Fawcett Fandom, an independent research and writing project devoted to examining Farrah Fawcett’s life, career, public image, and legacy. Since founding the project in June 2022, James has researched Farrah extensively through interviews, television appearances, archival material, books, photographs, and other primary and secondary sources. Archives
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Created and written by James Cowman
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Email: [email protected]
Created and written by James Cowman
© 2025–2026 Farrah Fawcett Fandom. All rights reserved.
