That’s not how his family and friends have viewed it. His co-workers had particular fun asking about the too-tight, seemingly nonexistent pants.

“Oh, I’ve had to deal with that for years,” he laughs.

Stephens has no idea why he was chosen. It could be he was on site every day, making it easier for the artists to refer to their muse. Maybe he had that hardened cowboy look. Or that he was simply available that day.

“It’s not me. It’s a figment of George’s and Adrian’s imaginations. I was there doing the best I could,” he said.

One trait shared between Stephens and the Golden Driller: a neutral, almost stern, face.

“You know, there are hardly any photos of me smiling anywhere,” he said. “When I’d luck out, win at a rodeo and have my picture in a magazine, my brothers would say, ‘Why do you look so serious all the time in front of photographers?’ It’s just the way I am, I guess.”

Coming to life: Once the sketches and planning were done, the Golden Driller assembly started. Stephens was the coordinator and there at each stage. Photos show him standing in front of a skeleton of a hand, a metal outline of the hat and a still-to-be connected foot.