May 21, 2000

Outhouse Antics

Uncle Billy’s outhouse came by its fame deservedly.

Certainly it was the only one of its kind in the Boot Heel of Missouri, land of my birth.

Our town had installed a sewage system early on, but some folks kept the venerable outhouse as a back-up. Supposedly that was why Uncle Billy kept his rustic facility in good repair.

In a way, it is regrettable that the outdoor toilet passed from American scene as a universal institution.

The arrangement was odoriferous and out of kilter with the seasons – too hot in summer, too cold in winter.

Nonetheless, generations of children BTV (before television) learned the facts of life from underwear pictures on the left- over slick pages of Sears & Roebuck catalogs thoughtfully provided there in lieu of the proverbial corn cob.

The typical outhouse was a “two-holer” one for adults, one for children. During the golden age of privies, however, there were some notable exceptions.

Old-timers in my town remembered with awe the hotel’s two- story outhouse. It boggled the mind but was, with its elevated walkway, a great convenience for second-floor guests.

Until I first reported this incident years ago, and received a secret blueprint, the engineering plan of multi-storied privies had been lost to science.

By custom, outhouse doors were pierced with a crescent moon design to encourage ventilation. However, the benefit was more imagined than real.

The crescent was immortalized by humorist Chick Sales in a story about a carpenter who specialized in cutting that distinctive feature. In the heyday of outhouses, they were commonly called Chick Sales. Before that, the structures were usually referred to in polite company as Tall Betty -- for reasons unknown.

An optional accessory was a bucket of quick-lime with a Calumet baking-powder can for a scoop. A deluxe appointment – much appreciated by the ladies – was a hand-pumped “spray gun” of Flit for stunning flies.

* * *

When outhouses ceased to be a necessity, Uncle Billy turned his into a conversation piece.

First, he sawed out all four walls. Then he hinged them at the bottom edge and latched them at the top. Finally he attached the latches to a pull-chain hanging from the ceiling. On the end of the chain he hung a sign, “Pull To Flush.”

Uncle Billy was a retired widower so had lots of time to socialize with his cronies. Being unencumbered with family, his house was a popular hangout.

It was a favorite trick of the good old boys to invite a newcomer to a poker game at Uncle Billy’s. For these occasions, he posted a sign on his bathroom door: “Out of order. Use privy out back.”

Sooner or later, as the home brew flowed freely, the uninitiated guest would make his way along the little path in the back yard. He would marvel at the modernization of the outhouse and the thoughtfulness of the unexpurgated reading matter tacked to an inside wall: “The Passing of the Backhouse,” by James Whitcomb Riley.

Eventually the sojourner would Pull To Flush, thus tripping the latches.

Whump!

The four walls would crash down, startling the victim and subjecting him to the guffaws of his companions watching from behind window curtains.

* * *

It was the last day of Uncle Billy’s outhouse that made it immortal in Boot Heel history.

Uncle Billy liked the ladies, so he was frequent squire to widows and assorted spinsters. One evening he invited Mrs. Whittley, a comely widow, to take lemonade with him on his wrap- around verandah.

They sipped and chatted ‘til the shadows grew long, and the lemonade pitcher was empty. Uncle Billy excused himself to make a refill.

Apparently the shy Widow Whittley took advantage of the interlude to use the privy visible out back.

At any rate, Uncle Billy in the kitchen froze in mid-squeeze of a lemon by a familiar crash.

Whump!

Uncle Billy was afraid to look and afraid not to.

Ten thousand horrors! Mrs. Whittley had fallen victim to his earthy humor.

At first, she was too surprised to move. Soon, the initial shock was replaced with overwhelming embarrassment of being caught in a very un-ladylike predicament. How to hoist her unmentionables without creating a still greater spectacle was a challenge to vex the most confidant sophisticate.

So, she sat.

And sat.

And sat.

Uncle Billy was mortified. His brain turned to mush. He didn’t know whether to rush out and latch up the privy walls, or flee to spare Widow Whittley the ordeal of sharing an unplanned intimacy.

So he waited, averting his eyes.

And waited.

And waited.

Once in a while he took a peek, but Mrs. Whittley was transfixed.

In an hour or so, it got dark, and Mrs. Whittley felt sufficiently assured to arrange her clothing and slip out the back gate.

She refused to see Uncle Billy again and never answered his letter of apology.

Uncle Billy dismantled his famous outhouse, filled the trench which it straddled and planted a magnolia tree there. The tree, well fertilized, grew to impressive height in a surprisingly few years.

In the Spring – when the sweet scent of magnolia filled the evening air – Uncle Billy often got a faraway look in his eyes. Then he would sit on his verandah, sip lemonade and chuckle to himself.

* * *

Fortunately for science, my readers are eclectic and far flung -- even if sparse in number. Thus, George F. Lambert, of Bedford, Ohio, came forward with vital information.

“You seem to be somewhat puzzled about certain architectural arrangements of a two-story outhouse in Missouri,” he wrote. “The Taylor Chair Co. of Bedford, is, I understand, one of the oldest businesses in the area. It not only had a two-story outhouse, but a three-story one as well.

“I know this because I did some work on them in my youth. They were not too well known locally, except to Taylor employees. However, a bit of doggerel was written about one of the privies which ran, as I recall:

In the village of Bedford, Ohio,

‘Midst the corn and tall golden rod,

Is a model of ancient construction,

A three-story outhouse by G - - !

*

Its multiple crannies and corners,

Triplicate beams which are odd,

Drive hornets nuts as they seek huts

In the 3-story outhouse by G - - !

*

‘Twas builded by ancient artisans

Who now lie ‘neath the sod,

But the - - - - of bosses goes a long way

In the 3-story outhouse by G - - !

“* The main office was on the third floor. It is observable that the ‘executive wash room’ is the most spacious.”

Structural detail of Taylor Chair Co. three-story outhouse.

Author: Lindsey Williams