He could have retired to a mansion.
Instead, he bought 6 tons of beef, 7,000 cakes, and 8,700 bricks of ice cream — and invited every man, woman, and child in three counties to come eat for free.
His name was Edgar Byram Davis, and his story is one of the most extraordinary acts of generosity in American history.
Davis grew up in Brockton, Massachusetts. He worked his way up from the shoe business to become a wealthy rubber industry investor. Then, at 46 years old, he followed his brother to a small, struggling farming town in Texas called Luling — where geologists had unanimously declared there was no oil worth finding.
He drilled anyway.
Six wells. All dry. His company sank into debt so deep that his phone was disconnected and the bank wouldn't cash a seven-dollar check. Most men would have walked away.
Davis drilled a seventh well.
On August 9, 1922, Rafael Rios No. 1 exploded 200 feet into the sky. Within two years, the Luling field was producing 43,000 barrels of oil per day. A dying cotton town had become a boomtown almost overnight.
In June 1926, Davis sold his leases to Magnolia Petroleum for $12 million — the largest oil deal in Texas history at the time. He was 52 years old and, by any measure, set for life.
So he threw a party.
One hundred acres of San Marcos River frontage. Three counties invited. The supplies alone tell the story: 6 tons of beef, over 5,000 pounds of mutton, 2,000 chickens, 28,000 bottles of soda, 7,000 cakes, 8,700 bricks of ice cream. Estimates of the crowd ranged from 15,000 to 35,000 people — nobody was quite sure because nobody had ever seen anything like it. Families came in wagons, in Model T Fords, on horseback. Nobody paid a cent. Nobody was turned away.
But Davis had already been quietly giving before the party even started. He distributed nearly $2 million in profit-sharing bonuses to every employee — structured by years of service, so the longest-serving workers received the most. He established the Luling Foundation with a million-dollar endowment to help local farmers. He built a golf course and two athletic community clubhouses for the white and black citizens.
He also sank $1.5 million into a Broadway play he believed in passionately, which turned out to be one of the most spectacular flops in theater history. He didn't regret a dollar of it.
When the Great Depression came, his company went insolvent. He spent years paying off debts. Massachusetts tax authorities hounded him for the rest of his life over taxes he refused to accept he owed.
Edgar B. Davis died in 1951. Flat broke. No grand estate, no foundation bearing his name on marble, no bronze statues.
But the Luling Foundation still operates today — still educating farmers, still improving agriculture — exactly as he intended. And in Luling, they still tell the story of the barbecue. Still talk about the oilman who made a fortune and decided the best thing to do with it was share it.
He once said simply: "I have no right to any of this money."
And then he proved he meant it.
Six tons of beef. Seven thousand cakes. Thirty thousand neighbors fed for free.
And one man who believed that striking it rich was only worth something if the people around you felt it too.