SKIP
TO ME LOO Violating
journalistic rules, we look at unlikely stories about Elimination in Africa and
my World The
photo is of a Roman toilet from the days of Caesar.
It would seem that elimination
then was a lot more social than now. The
title is a take off on an old American
folk song. 
HOW
SHALL WE THEN POOP?It
is considered neither essential nor proper to deal with elimination issues when
telling stories of war, exploration, or survival. Really, what do we know about
the loo protocols in any of the stories of the great wars of history? Not much. And,
those early explorers of Africa, and the trappers and miners who opened up the
Canadian North and the Yukon, not a word on their toilet provisions. Did
not a group of Congo Africans gather around Henry Mortimer Stanley during his
trek into Africa to find David Livingston? Did they not marvel, "Kumbe, see
now that his skin may be white, but he poops the same color we do." This
alone won their hearts to believe he was one with them. That is the story in Stanley's
book that he did NOT tell, and I have given it to you now by stretching the blanket
a bit. I
have read many missionary biographies and exploration accounts, and I have always
wondered how these brave souls dealt with elimination in the Africa jungle, or
in India in the 1800s with a thousand curious chuklie wallahs watching. |
So,
I shall cautiously try to relate some of the strange and terrifying experiences
I have had in the art of elimination in Africa and other back country places.
Nothing will be left out, er, in. Is
this disgusting? Absolutely. Is
this a bit off color? Actually, in the story of elimination, the more dirt, the
better we cover it. Is
this offensive? Of
course, and I am willing to bet pie and coffee at the Dahlia Cafe that you will
read these stories anyway. DEFINITIONS:
Loo--
British and Aussie for a bathroom or latrine. Ask for a bathroom in England, and
the maid will run the water for your bath. Ask for a bathroom in Australia, and
they will laugh heartily. Aussies are less inhibited. WC--
(Water Closet)-- The European version for the US and Canadian "Restroom."
The British make a lot more sense than we Americans. After all, who really goes
into a Restroom to rest. In fact, the air and ambiance are often far from restful,
unless you like to rest in the back corner of the barn. Wash
Room-- A bit Victorian,
as in, "And, where may I wash my hands please?" You Americans..... please
do not take that guest to a sink and hand them a towel. They do NOT need to just
wash their hands. They need the whole treatment.
HISTORY
OF THE MODERN CRAPPER One
great revelation to modern man was the flush toilet, which was invented in 1596
by Sir John Harington who designed the forerunner to the modern flush toilet at
his house at Kelston, England. It let water out of a tank to wash down and empty
the bowl. He installed one for his  godmother
Queen Elizabeth I at Richmond Palace, although she refused to use it because it
made too much noise. The roar of the royal flush doubtless announced to the whole
palace that her highness had once again fulfilled her destiny. Such things should
be left to the privy counsel rather than the commoners. Sir
John did not find an "S" trap at the Home Depot hardware store when
he invented his toilet, and the fumes from the sewer came back into his home for
nearly 200 years. Alexander Cummings invented the "S" trap in 1775,
and we all should be very thankful he did. I did not see a monument to Al in Piccadilly
Circus when I was in London, and I think that is very unfortunate. A
year later the American Revolution took place in New England because "S"
traps were taxed so heavily by King George. The US set up a boycott of British
"S" traps, and to this day you can smell the stink
in the air whenever Congress is in session. But,
the toilet, or "water closet" as the British have it, was really perfected
and marketed to the world for the common man by Thomas Crapper. That is the absolute
truth, and in some parts of London and the back woods of America the toilet is
still referred to as "the Crapper." What a legacy for any man to realize
his name has endured and not gone to waste. The
problem with Mr. Crapper's model was the tank high on the wall. When you pulled
the chain, the flush was violent, and if the toilet happened to clog, you could
not jerk the top off of the tank and stop the flush. You
may have heard that tornadoes and hurricanes in the north rotate in reverse of
cyclones in the Southern Hemisphere. Thus, some clever soul claims that toilets
in Australia also flush or swirl the water in the opposite direction as in the
US and Europe. I checked it out when I was in Brisbane, and I can assure you that
is not true. If it were true, the toilet would swirl the water right out onto
the floor..... well, maybe. You
may also wonder why the toilet needs to make so much noise when it flushes. This
is because if there is not a great roaring flush of water, followed by a painful
gasp, the toilet will not "swallow" properly. And, in case you do not
like the term "swallow," that is the official technical term used by
your trusty plumber. In
fact, long ago, Father Junipero Serra of San Juan Capistrano Mission in California,
installed the first flush toilets in the USA. They were defective, and would no
swallow properly. Father Serra sent off to Spain for a whole new set made by another
company, and they flushed very well indeed. This is where we got the old Spanish
ballad, "When
the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano." Well, if that story is not true,
it sure missed a great opportunity. Elimination
puns are presenting themselves in violent abundance, but I am trying to ration
them so as not to over fill the thing. THE
AFRICAN LOO, OUT HOUSE, LATRINE ETCLet's
get this straight right now-- Africans do not make a big fuss over the place where
they leave their poop. Americans and Europeans now days make a bathroom into a
palace of sorts. All manner of decorations, wall hangings, photos of your vacation
to Greece, and air quality management are added to the Yankee loo to give it ambiance.
The
Japanese are the most extreme in their obsession with classy elimination and
have even added automatic bottom washers and dryers. The Japanese crapper greets
you by name and turns on your favorite music to poop to. A rollicking tango does
wonders for regularity. The Japanese give you a remote attached to the pot to
turn on all the various electronic accouterments that simply must be included
in order to make pooping a fulfilling experience. Here
is the Rolls Royce of toilets in Japan. 
Americans in particular are known to spend long hours in the loo, perched on their
porcelain throne, reading the newspaper, doing home work, and even texting friends.
I refuse to be social and even answer when anyone tries to update me about world
events from outside my throne room. I want to get it all over with, work it all
out, and get on to much more interesting places to be sociable.
They tell me that Nebuchadnezzar sat on a golden throne and watched the battle.
We sit on a ceramic throne and listen to the battle. There are a lot more of these
sayings on college restroom walls, but they are all unpublishable. I think a bit
of ancient history about the African loo is in order.  The
African has no interest in an ambient loo. Their latrine is often a small building
made of posts cut from trees embedded in the ground vertically, and there is a
limited attempt to weave some branches and leaf rubbish horizontally between the
posts. The modest White Man enters, and to his chagrin can see way too much of
the outside to feel comfortable. What the poor fellow fails to realize is that
the inside of the loo is almost in total darkness, and no one can see him.
The
pit toilet at the right above actually has an improvement over the latrines of
the days when I lived in Africa. Some African has learned to add the ventilation
pipe to draw off the smelly fumes. If the wood cover at the side is faithfully
placed over the hole when not in use, the latrine will not smell. Clever. The
latrine at the left is a rather temporary one, maybe for a church conference or
out in the fields during cultivation time before the rains come.
So,
our Anglo-Saxon missionary, explorer, or visiting theologian to Africa asks to
be shown the facilities. If he is British, he will say, "And, where may I
wash my hands." He has just come in from a long safari, and he has no interest
in actually washing his hands. In reality, his bladder is about to burst. One
American missionary I knew took a poor British Government official out on their
porch where they kept the wash basin. He did not know about the Victorian way
of asking where the loo was. This
new arrival to Africa is in for a shock when he is escorted back out of the house
and pointed to the rickety loo in the back yard, and it is sometimes a bit of
a trip. [ Free item-- when you build an out house, be sure it is down wind. ]
He walks into the loo, and he finds it breezy, and if the African did not know
how to vent it, which they did not long ago, the visitor is hit by a powerfully
rich atmosphere. Now,
he looks for the throne where he may sit and contemplate life for a few minutes,
and there is none. Instead, there is a hole in the floor, and that's it! The missionary
of long ago who was out visiting Africans learned to take along his own paper
because the cleansing process was seriously flawed. In India the method is washing
with water which is horribly unsanitary. Paper in Africa long ago was a real luxury,
and no African would treat paper with such disdain. However, the Sears and Roebuck
catalog eventually made its way to Africa in the 1950s to missionaries who wanted
to order from it. This catalogue had long been in use in the USA in outhouses
in the Ozarks and Appalachia. So, the missionary would trade the old catalogue
for a few eggs or some bananas, and the African would drop the catalogue inside
his loo to upgrade it and be ready for visiting White folks. My
experiences go back to 1954 and up to about 1976. So, African loo arrangements
will be much more modern today, especially in towns and cities in Africa. But,
out in the rural areas the above discussion will largely still apply. HOW
TO BE FAMOUS IN WASTE MANAGEMENTThere
was a missionary in Tanganyika (now Tanzania) when I was a kid who had mastered
building out houses. His were substantial cement block wonders, and he had learned
of the way to design the things so that they vented out the odor from down below.
I shall not go into detail, but it works. He even white washed the loo so that
it was a marvel to look at. He built seats, a lower small one for kids, and a
higher larger one for grown ups. When
the Africans saw this they were in awe of the missionary. Just think, no stink,
and the cement floor in place of the tamped mud one of the African, and the thing
looked better to the eye than their own homes..... this was an amazing missionary.
The word for latrine in Swahili is "choo". Because this missionary had
built many of his models and made thousands of Africans marvel at them, the Africans
did what they often do to honor a man-- they named him after his highest skill--
Bwana Choo-- "Mr. toilet". To the Africans this was a way to give the
missionary distinction, but to the rest of us missionaries, and to the missionary
man himself, it was very suspect and not quite what we would want carved on our
tombstone. HEDGING
AND OTHER NIGHT TIME VENTURESThe
art of hedging was one of our skills in our missionary kids' boarding school in
Kenya, Rift Valley Academy. The founders of the school planted cedar hedges along
many paths, and these hedges over many years became huge. At night, instead of
going all the way to the bath rooms building, we boys would stand against the
hedge and pee. All went well until one day Pa Hollenbeck, our dorm parent, caught
the foul stink of aging urine as he walked by a hedge, and he read us the riot
act. We were more careful from then on to pick our hedges and rotate from one
to the other. Of
course, our hedging was nothing new. Long ago in Rome the citizens all peed on
the walls of any building around. Caesar contra murum navigate. He did. And, in
the Bible we see that this distinguished men from women. God's curse on Ahab was
thus: 1 Kings 21:21 Behold, I will bring evil upon thee,
and will take away thy posterity, and will cut off from Ahab him that pisseth
against the wall, and him that is shut up and left in Israel, In
Ethiopia, while we were missionaries, we found that there was only one public
toilet in Addis Ababa, a city of one million people. We also were warned that
the custom was to pee on the wall for the men, and in the gutter for the ladies.
This in no way implied that the Ethiopian people were primitive. It was common
to see a man in a business suit step over to the wall and take care of business.
And, this would have been true all over the Middle East. One
missionary was trying to practice his new language skills and greeted a lady squatting
in the gutter. He reported that she did not reply with the usual response to a
greeting, and he had not idea what she was saying. Culture shock is serious stuff.
During the dry season, the sidewalks near the walls reeked horribly, and we all
looked forward to the rainy season which we called the flush season. The
Ethiopian people have a very sophisticated language with very precise tenses and
grammar structure, but many of their nouns are blunt. A bathroom is called a "shinte
beit," or urine house. PINCHING
ANTS  Pinching
ants (Siafu in Swahili) roam in mammoth swarms large enough to fill your
whole home, floor to attic, if they invade. They have powerful pinchers which
they use to catch and dissect their prey. They will clean your house of all cockroaches,
mice, and even snakes if you vacate for a day or two. In the early days of missionary
work in Africa that is what the missionaries did because they had poor methods
of insect control.
When
the pinching ants are ranging and looking for a food site, they move through the
grass almost unseen. If you were to step on them, in their migration trail, and
keep moving, you would probably not get any on you. But, if you stop and stand
on a spot where the pinching ants are, they will at once swarm up your shoes and
legs. All people familiar with them report that the pinching ants have a strange
behavior. They will not bite you until they are all over your legs, and possibly
other parts, and all at once they will bite together. The result is a horrible
feeling of tiny knives cutting you all over your body. So,
what does this have to do with elimination? It
is common for men living in the bush of Africa to not use the outhouse at night
but to go outside to a brushy area and go there if the task at hand is only to
urinate. One evening, while my family were visiting Charlie Hess and his wife,
my little brother and I needed to relieve ourselves. Uncle Charlie told us to
take a flashlight and go outside in some tall grass nearby. We went outside, found
the appointed place, and turned off the flashlight. We were almost finished with
the process when my little brother screamed. I thought a snake had bit him. Then,
it was my turn. We were both being attacked by pinching ants.  These
ants do not bite and run. They bite and bury their pinchers and hang there till
they die, or until you pick them off with force. The photo shows how the mandibles
are buried deep. In the photo the victim tried to pull the ants off, and the ants'
bodies came off and left the heads firmly attached.
Well,
my parents came running out of the house wondering what horror had gotten to us,
and they soon figured it out because of the dance we were doing-- the antsy two
step. The rule in Africa is that all modesty may be thrown to the wind when a
person is attacked by pinching ants. These beasts have been known to wait until
they have occupied a person's whole body up to his neck, and then BANG, attack. So,
the rule is, strip at once, and start picking ants. There is no way you can stand
to go find a private place to do this. My brother and I were told to strip down,
and Mom and Dad started picking while chuckling at our plight. Their turn would
come. We
boys, when we found a mass of pinching ants moving along, would slip up quietly
and start grabbing ants by the abdomen. We would then point the ant at our jacket,
and the ant would grab the jacket. We would then pull the abdomen off. We did
this ant by ant until we spelled our name on our jacket in ant heads. Hey, when
you were still only ten years old and too young to get a game licensee and go
hunt the big game, this would have to do. The
video tells about the life of pinching ants. In Africa we called a larger less
aggressive black ant "army ants," and the ones in the video pinching
ants or Siafu. Sometimes they are called driver ants. As to the blind aspect,
if you had the nerve, you could slowly put your finger down in the wide path of
pinching ants marching along, and if you did not move they would go right around
your finger and keep going. Twitch your finger, and you would get nailed at once
because anything that moves is lunch. Here
is a second video if you need to follow the war of the tiny world more.  SLIT
TRENCH
Most
of you will never have to provide facilities for a rough camping situation. But,
for you interested in preparedness and camping, here are the rules. A
slit trench is meant to be used only for elimination. Dig a separate hole for
camp garbage and bury it daily. Dig
a trench about one foot wide, two feet deep, and long enough to not completely
fill up during your camping session. If you can arrange to dig the ditch on the
other side of a fallen log, and in a clump of bushes, that is ideal. Tell everyone
to case out the location every time they use it for unwanted varmints. The log
can thus be used as a seat. As
the trench fills, cover it with dirt, and move over a bit. If you dig a longish
ditch, each person can cover with dirt every time it is used and prevent flies.
Plan to take a small shovel for this purpose, and leave it at the slit trench.
Tell everyone to use some sort of call word to inquire if the facility is in use
before barging around the bush. Whatever
you do, do not forget toilet tissue, and take plenty in case some other campers
steal yours because they forgot their own. Tell the guys to urinate at night in
some other bushes downwind so the slit trench use is minimized. IMPORTANT:
Be sure to locate the slit trench downwind from the camp. This
has been well proven by myself and friends and family in game park camping in
Africa. If elephants decide to browse the bushes where the slit trench is, you
may want to dig a second one for a back up. Elephants do not really care to use
slit trenches, but they are a bit insulted with people to do so while they are
eating. Now,
tell me, how many places on the Internet will you get such tried and proven instructions
on elimination in the wild? SUN
DOWNER STORYA
sun downer is a British colonial invention. The sun goes down on the equator at
the same time all year round. So, you may invite your friends to come over at
the end of the day for a sun downer. This consists mostly of sipping gin and tonic
and lemonade spiked with Nubian gin, a deadly high powered gin made by natives
in the Sudan. Everyone catches up on what is happening on all the farm estates,
and news from the UK is gleaned by those far from civilization.  A
group of British White settler farmers and government officials were having a
sun downer in Kenya one lovely evening in the 1950s. The usual colonial home had
manicured lawns, tidy and abundant splashes of flowers all around the perimeter,
and at the lower end of the lawn / flower garden was an out house. The home in
those days had modern indoor facilities, but when people were outside it was often
easier to use the old out house. These were thus kept presentable for this purpose.
In
this group was a lady, a very proper type, who slipped from the group and went
to use the out house. No sooner was she inside than the group heard a terrifying
scream from the out house. Several ladies rushed to the rescue, and they learned
that as soon as the lady sat down to take care of business, a snake had promptly
struck and bitten her from inside the hole. It
was decided that the medial officer visiting the sun downer should be called at
once. He rushed to the scene, and keeping a stiff upper lip, and a classically
British composure under such emergencies, he inspected the site of the snake bite.
Sure enough, the lady had the two fang marks on her bottom, and the medical officer
at once fetched his snake bite kit, made two small cuts over the fang marks, and
proceeded to suck blood and venom from the wounds with suction cups. At
this point a chicken cackled. And, someone said that it came from the outhouse.
An inspection was made, and the chicken was found inside the hole near the seat.
She had made a nest there, and she did not care to be disturbed and let the lady
know so by pecking her violently. The
medical officer dressed the wounds, and everyone tried not to laugh and make merry.
But, the lady never again spoke to the medical officer. Doing one's medical duty
can sometimes be perilous in the end. TRAVELING
AND ELIMINATION Traveling
in Africa brings many experiences in elimination. On African trains long ago,
and on the lake steamer passenger ships on Lake Victoria, both types of cultural
toilets were available, "Asian Type" and "European Type".
This meant the Asian type had the hole in the floor. Some Africans and Asians
would sneak into the European type for a bit of culture, but we could tell by
the foot prints on the toilet seat that an African had been there before us. I
am not making this up. Sitting to eliminate was simply not right to the African. In
case you think the African form of elimination is primitive, and that we Europeans
are more advanced, recent research has shown that squatting to eliminate is more
natural and makes things work the way God intended. So, we pay the price for our
idea of what is more civilized-- hemorrhoids. The
railway coaches did not store the sewage in tanks and drain them later at some
facility. The flush of the toilet sent the contents straight to the trackside.
A sign in the WC said, "Please do not flush the WC while the train is in
the station." Even so, smart peasants wandering about the train station platform
stayed clear of the side of the cars. Also, when the train was traveling out in
the country, the only people you might see standing near the tracks as the train
went by were tourists trying to photograph the train. A very interesting picture
might well come about in this way.  The
East African Railway and Harbors Company had a brand of toilet paper called Bronco.
Why this US Southwest name was used for British toilet paper is a puzzle, but
it may have been telling us what kind of people might use it-- bronco busters.
It was hard paper that had been burnished to a high polish. I hesitate to tell
you what it did when used, but you could tell as you passed a loo on the lake
steamer from the comments in progress. It was necessary to hold it between your
hands and rough it around violently so that it did something other than polish
the product. And, the railway people never changed it. They must have had five
boat loads of it in a warehouse in Mombassa.
I
found a site online that is about British products from long ago, and someone
actually made a recent run of the original Bronco for nostalgic purposes. You
can see it in the photo at the right. The site gave the following description:
"Toilet
paper, 'Bronco' brand, London, England, 1935-1950. Rough on one side, shiny on
the other and seemingly nonabsorbent, toilet papers such as this ‘Bronco’ brand
would be very familiar to anyone over the age of fifty. At one time advertised
with the slogan “Bronco, for the bigger wipe”.
How
true, it only made the problem bigger.  A
word on wiping. When in the woods of America, or in the forests of Kenya, indeed,
in the wilds anywhere, do not wipe with just any old leaf handy. There is poison
ivy and poison oak, but they are not large enough for the task, so they seldom
are a problem. Just don't get into them with your tender posterior while squatting.
But,
in Africa and some other areas of the world there are stinging nettles. The leaves
of the African variety are large and just the size for an effective wipe. The
nettles are microscopic and not easy to see. When you grab a nettle leaf and pluck
it, the thick skin on your hand will not tell you that you are into a serious
situation. But, one wipe, and your tail end will be on fire. The nettles are actually
tiny hypodermic syringes, and when touched, they pump the poison into the victim. One
solution for nettles is mud, so if you are in enough trouble to sacrifice modesty,
go plant you bottom in the mud along a stream. RIFT
VALLEY ACADEMY STORIESGrowing
up in a boarding school is one thing, but in a boarding school for missionaries
kids is quite another. Missionaries, much like their British colonial government
official neighbors, are usually people of strong will and motivation or they would
never make it to the jungles of the Congo or to the social jungles of Nairobi's
east side. So,
we kids in Rift Valley Academy were sometimes a bit odd and independent minded.
We also had our own vocabulary for many things. Much of this was borrowed from
the British colonials and their kids in another boarding school nearby. The
word for the bath room, the loo, was the "gudge". Toilet paper was "gudge
roll". I have tried to find the origin of this word, and it would seem this
one was entirely invented by some former social sub-set at RVA long before my
time. During
the Mau Mau uprising we were under lock down at night because of the stated intentions
of the Mau Mau rebels to kill the kids in our school. We were well guarded, but
we had to stay in all night. The rest rooms were in a corrugated building outside
the dorms, and anyone needing to go in the night had to walk outside to that building
and back. This was forbidden at night during the Mau Mau era. So, a large porcelain
pail was set under a staircase in the hall of the boys dorm upstairs. This was
usually nearly running over by morning, and it was extremely fragrant as well. Any
bucket used for this purpose in our school was called a "poo-how". Again,
no etymology found. But, anyone using another name for it was not one of us, he
was just pissing through. This
procedure went on for a couple of years without incident, and then one day I was
in the dining room just below the boys upstairs dorm. I noticed that Helen Barnett,
a student who helped with kitchen work, had put all the deserts out on a table
for supper. It was chocolate pudding on individual saucers. This pudding was a
British product and was like chocolate flavored chalk mixed into milk. Many of
the kids declined it. Being addicted to chocolate, I would have eater a brick
if they had dipped in in chocolate, so I was pleased to see the pudding. Then
it began to rain, and the rain was coming from the ceiling over the chocolate
pudding. AND, the rain was yellow. It seems some young boys were upstairs playing
rough games and chasing one another, and one of them kicked the poo-how over.
All the kitchen ladies came running, and a wail of screams and terrors burst loose.
As soon as they got control of themselves, they then wailed for lack of desserts
for the meal which was very near to be served. The
boys dorm up the hill was called Kidong after a local place name in the area.
One had to be in at least ninth grade to move up the hill to this prestigious
palace, and my day came. We all had jobs we had to do, and I hated washing dishes.
This task consisted in leaning over steaming tubs of very hot water, plunging
your arms into that hot water up to your elbows, and scrubbing dishes, or dipping
the dishes into even hotter water on racks for the rinse. Gloves were not on the
budget in the 1950s. My hands ended up looking like anemic prunes from this process,
and I hated it. So, I volunteered to clean the bath rooms. The thing about that
job was that I could haul a huge hose into the bath room, and I could blast the
whole place (except the toilet paper) with water and wash it down top to bottom
in a very short time. I always did this when other boys were not around so they
would never figure out how easy my job was. Toilet cleaner tenure was a precious
thing, you see. Later,
in college something similar happened. I got a job on grounds keeping for the
college to help pay my tuition. A list of jobs was posted, and one of them was
to clean out the horse coral. The college had a Physical Education course in Equestrian
Care and Riding. Everyone else was avoiding the job of cleaning the horse coral
and signing up for other jobs. I got to thinking about horse manure. It is pretty
dry, does not get sloppy, and furthermore, I like horses. So, I signed up for
that job. I got some kidding, so I moaned and tried to seem heroic for doing this.
As I expected my four hour shift cleaning up the horse coral was easily done in
about 40 minutes. A lady in the community next to the college helped the college
with horse riding instruction, and she saw me one day and brought me an ice cream
bar. This became a regular custom, and I told no one. The rest of the time I drove
around in an old 1938 Buick that was converted into a flat bed utility truck.
It had steering that had one full turn of play in it, and no one wanted to drive
it. I drove it here and there tidying up this and that and looking intense like
I was in a very big hurry. Never
underestimate the joy of volunteering to do something nasty. It usually is a lot
less horrid than you think, and no one will ever bump you out to get your job
if you groan a bit at the right times. 
ELSEWHERE
IN THE WORLD OF THE LOO
Outhouse
in Briartown, OklahomaWhen
I was a kid of about six, my Dad pastored a rural church in Briartown, Oklahoma.
Almost everyone in the area still used out houses because that rural economy was
still depressed and was coming out of the Great Depression very slowly. This
is the frijoles powered outhouse On
Halloween night the teen age boys in the community used to push over outhouses.
They pushed ours over, and my Dad set it upright again and no harm was done. But,
some of the locals, especially older cranky men, whose teen days were suppressed
by their parents, resented the out house trick. One
farmer pushed his outhouse over about two feet so that the edge of the out house
sat just where the pit was. The boys hit his outhouse every year because he made
such a fuss. That year, they pushed it over, and each boy took a step to catch
his balance. Just one step, you see, but that was just what the old geezer was
planning on. Two of the boys fell into the pit, and they raised a stink all over
town for a couple of days. Another
man simply dug a shallow hole for his outhouse, and he dug a new hole every year
nearby. When the boys pushed his outhouse over, he scooted it over to the new
hole, set it up, and then filled in the old hole and planted a fruit tree in it. A
Texas brat was more noble. He decided to push over the outhouse. A little while
later, the old man found his kid and asked him if he was the one who pushed over
the outhouse. The kid told him, "I cannot tell a lie, Daddy. I was he one
who pushed it over." The old man took off his belt and wailed the tar out
of the kid. The boy then asked, "I did not lie about the outhouse. I told
the truth just like when George Washington did not lie to his Daddy when he chopped
down his Daddy's cherry tree. So, why did you give me a whipping, Daddy?"
The old man said, "George Washington's Daddy was not sitting in the cherry
tree." As
with all Texas yarns, if it that one was not true, it sure should have been.
 The
Two Room School House
Long
ago, during the days of the country school, before consolidation turned American
education into a social event rather than a learning process, each country school
house had outhouses. They had two out at the end of the playground, one for boys,
and one for girls. Back then, a boy would wet his pants if the boys outhouse was
in use rather than use the girls' which was empty. Unisex anything, back then,
was thought of as a result of a sick mind or total perversion. Also,
if some boy was late from recess, you could tell where he was by looking out yonder
at the outhouse. There might be a wisp of smoke coming from the cracks in the
wall, and the kid might have a faint odor of Bull Durham when he finally found
his seat. In those days, that was as serious as bad behavior got, and the school
marm would get that eighteen inch ruler from her desk and wail away. Then, when
the boy got home, he got it again from his Dad.
 In
Michigan
In
a church I pastored for a couple of years in Michigan we had a family of people
who really lived "back on the farm." They had inherited a family farm
that was very old, and they kept it up well. The problem was, they did not have
an easy way to put in an inside restroom with a septic tank and drain field. So,
they had an outhouse. It was clean, but it was not heated, and in the winter it
was viciously cold. I need not say much, but simply imagine that first second
of contact of your tender parts with minus 20 degree F. in February. Whenever
we visited, we loved the old fashioned hospitality, and the dinners were made
up of fresh food from last summer's garden and lots of it. But, the trip to the
outhouse was a terror, and after returning to the house, we realized why farm
people BACK UP to the fire place.
Frankfurt
AirportWe
had a lay over in the Frankfurt, Germany airport on our way to Ethiopia, and we
had hours to kill. Not wanting to venture around the city, we hung out in the
airport. We were kindly given a dinner ticket by the airlines which helped. And,
they provided a lovely day care center where Elizabeth could take the kids, and
while she got a nap in the same center, the nice German ladies watched the kids.
I had to park in the lobby since I was not a Mother. German
hospitality is legend. But, there was one aspect of German convention which really
blind sided me.  I
needed to relieve myself, so I headed for the restrooms. As I approached the restroom,
a stocky mean looking German lady was parked squarely between the men's and ladies'
restrooms. This lady stepped up to me, jabbed her hand at me, and said, "Pfennig."
I was not sure what Pfennig meant, but I assumed it might be German for Penny.
I was thoroughly disgusted that the airport officials let beggars hang around
the airport restrooms and beg for money.
I
tried to ignore the lady, who looked like the Kaiser's little sister, but she
again jabbed her hand at me forcefully, and blurted out "Pfennig" rather
violently. I told her in English that I was not contributing, and I went into
the restroom and proceeded to use the urinal. Alas,
the jackboot lady followed me into the restroom and parked right behind me to
wait until I was done. I saw her, and I got a serious case of bashful bladder.
I wanted to thrash her soundly verbally, but I barely know enough German to order
from a menu.  After
I finally finished, I turned around, and as I headed for the sinks to wash up,
out came the hand, and "Pfennig!!!" I told her she was rude and disgusting
in English, but I suspect she did not know a word of English. I fled the restroom
with the lady jackboot following me along yelling, "Pfennig." She finally
gave up.
As
I later watched the restroom area I noticed that every man or lady who entered
the restrooms would reach into their pocket and give the lady a coin without any
solicitation from Frau Pfennig. It finally dawned on me that the lady had been
hired by the airport authorities to collect fees for using the restrooms. I
still marvel that such progressive people as the Germans, with all their clever
automation and engineering wonders, still hire a mean Mamma to collect der Pfennig
for restroom use.
 Airplane
Restrooms
Don't
you love those restrooms on airliners? Now,
I realize airplanes are fighting furiously against the law of gravity, and I am
always very happy to learn the the engineers of the plane mastered the laws of
aerodynamics so well that the plane stays up all the way to Colombus. Of course
much of the skill the engineers show is in their ability to make the plane strong
while limiting the weight. This is done by miniaturization. But, gentlemen, why
the throne room? Those
same engineers must never fly in airliners. Like the Detroit auto making engineers,
who never sat in the back seat of a Focus, the airliner engineers never used one
of those tiny restrooms. They also never tried to sit down and do their business
in an airplane restroom at 30,000 feet during a thunder storm..... on a plastic
throne just a bit larger than a donut. At
first, as you enter, you think, "How clever. They have compacted this thing
so that everything I may need is available.... it is just a bit close in here."
But, as you proceed to the Opus, you find that close is an understatement. You
partially disrobe and take you seat, hang your coat on the hook on the door, and
you wonder if there really is a seat there. Small is also an understatement. You
descend gently, and your head ends up in the folds of your coat hanging on the
door, and you realize that your Dutch posterior was not taken into account when
the Italian engineer made the throne. If you are a man, you do a tuck of the hardware
and hope it stays put while in use. All you need is to fill your britches with....................
never mind. Then
after you bang your head on the bin of extra supplies above you, and a box of
facial tissue tumbles down on your head, you are interrupted by frantic banging
on the door. The little window device on the outside of the door tells that idiot
outside that the room is "occupied." Maybe it is an Arab terrorist who
cannot read English. By
now, you have a total block of action due to nerves and claustrophobia. You keep
talking to yourself, "Relax, many people before you have survived this,"
"BANG
BANG BANG," "I
AM IN HERE," "PLEASE
HURRY" calls a tiny voice. Oh no, that is some poor kid out there about to
wet his pants, or worse. So,
now you go into high gear, push hard, and accomplish the task. Your colon rectal
physician will have another hemorrhoid to remove later. You dig around down in
the corner somewhere to find the toilet tissue, and you hope you can do this task
fast but not get it all over yourself. You
flush, and you panic as the wee toilet roars with rage. Sorry about that Omaha.
You
jerk your clothes back on, wash at high speed, and unlatch the door. While you
pull it open, little Johnny is pushing it from the outside, and he nearly collapses
on you. His Mommy blurts out an emotional, "Oh, thank you sir," and
you barely escape as Johnny goes to work. He is the only one in the plane who
fits in the restroom. You
trundle back to your seat, and if you were me, you would tell yourself to calm
down because you are on your way to Australia from Texas, and this will be happening
several times during the flight. The
steward comes by, "Sir, is this your coat?" You grab the coat and check
for your passport, and it is safe in the inside pocket. Sigh. You check the side
pockets, and in one is a McDonald's happy meal toy, a gift from Johnny. Rejoice,
the little kid did not wet his pants, and he grins from ear to ear as he passes
you on his way back to his seat. "I like you, Mister. I will try to always
go when you go because you helped me not wet my pants." "Everyone
has his fifteen minutes of fame."
Quote from Andy Warhol
 Mighty
Fine Burgers
We
have a couple of great hamburger places here in Austin, Texas named Mighty Fine
Burgers. They have perfect burgers-- char broiled-- and they have been voted the
best burger in Austin. They offer a gluten free bun alternative, so my wife can
eat there. They process all the potatoes on site so that the fries are fresh,
and vegetables are all very crisp. But,
they have a very strange restroom for the men. On entering, I was very impressed
with the cleanness and the high tech arrangements. There is a steel grate under
the urinals which prevents the wet floor issue, and cleaning is very efficient. But,
when I left that area and walked over to wash up, I was seriously startled. The
wall next to the sink allowed me to look right out onto the dining area and see
people eating. I at first wanted to go hide, but it occurred to me that no one
would do that without some strategy, so I figured it was one way glass. The interior
of the restroom was black and low lighting, so no one could possibly see through
the one way glass. I
was relieved, but I have still not figured out why they did it. Perhaps it is
a security issue, and employees can watch diners to see if something is wrong.
Also, it simply could be that some clever architect thought it would be a cool
way to have an interesting wall without hanging art on it or painting it. For
you conspiratorialists, do you suppose it is for the Seventh Day Adventist pastors
to catch their people eating hamburgers. I know some SDAs who sneak the beef once
in a while.
Art
Linkletter's House PartyYou
will no doubt be pleased to know that I had my fifteen minutes of fame in Hollywood.
Here is how it happened. Art
Linkletter had shows on CBS and ABC on and off from 1945 to 1969 under various
names. Art Linkletter's House Party was the ongoing show on the radio when I was
in 3rd grade at 79th Street School in south Los Angeles. All the ladies of the
church, including my Mom, all listened to the show. It was clean and fun, and
the main attraction was when Art interviewed about seven grade school kids and
asked them questions. The
kids on the show were chosen from schools all over the LA area. Art asked the
school principals to try to send kids who were alert and creative. It was 79th
Street School's turn to send kids to the show, and my teacher convinced the Principal
that I would do great on the show. This was because I had responded so well the
John Dewey's Progressive Education. This was an insane notion that kids should
not have their creativity inhibited by too much real education. Thus,
I, Stevie, was a master at finger painting, and I wowed the whole class every
day at "Show and Tell" time. I could make a very ordinary trip from
Inglewood to San Fernando Valley into a nightmare of terror and suspense. It was
all lies of course, but the teacher faithfully avoided inhibiting my creativity,
so I got to lie my way to fame. I should have run for Congress, really. So,
I was chosen to be on Art Linkletter's House Party. The morning we were to go
I was walked to school by my Mom, and there was a stretch limousine a mile long
waiting for us kids. Wow-- did we ever feel famous. I got a seat way in the back,
and I really felt cool, like Al Capone maybe. Limos were pretty rare in 1953,
and I got a buzz out of watching out the window and seeing all the people gawk
at us. Off
to Hollywood we went in style, and when we got there, a very kind lady met us
and stayed with us the rest of the day. She showed us the sound effects area,
and, since I was an avid afternoon radio listener to The
Lone Ranger and The Cisco Kid,
I loved seeing how the studio sound room made the sounds of wagon wheels, thunder,
and horses clopping. I
kind of had to go to the bathroom, but we were not asked about that. The nice
lady kept us busy right up to show time at noon, and then we were lead into the
studio onto the stage and seated ready for our moment of fame. As I sat down,
I looked at the audience, and I was very impressed with how big the audience was
and how little I was. Then there were the hot bright lights shining down from
above. I sort of ended up in la la land, and I also had an urge to go the the
bathroom. Art
Linkletter started at the far end of the row talking to us kids. Some kids were
from other schools. Art was a master at getting kids to talk because he genuinely
loved kids. He later wrote a book of all the crazy answers kids gave to his questions.
One kid told Art his family had gone to an aquarium. Art asked if he saw an octopus.
The kid said he did, and he told Art that the octopus was very dangerous because
he could grab you and crush you with his testicles. Art kept a straight face and
said, "You mean tentacles, don't you?" The boy said no, the octopus
used his testicles. These kid moments were what kept Art on the air for so many
years. People loved the innocent surprises. By
the time Art got to me, I was becoming very interested in where and when I would
be allowed to go to the bathroom. So, Art asked me what my Daddy did, and I told
him he was a preacher. Art asked me who had the coat of many colors, and I drew
a blank. He moved on to Adam and Eve, and I got that question right. My apologies
to Joseph. At
this time, back in my neighborhood, in every home of the church we attended, every
lady was listening intently at noon to hear little Stevie shine on the radio.
TV, in those days was pretty much a disaster, and the radio was still ruling supreme. After
the kids' interviews Art Linkletter gave all of us kids presents. I had listened
to the show with Mom many times, and I had visions of things past kids had gotten,
like roller skates and model airplanes. Art gave us a stack of Golden Books and
a cardboard horsey we could hang over our shoulders with straps and go galloping
along using our two legs as the legs of the horse. Big wup. So,
the show ended, and they took us across the street from the CBS studios to a restaurant
and ordered us all a classy hamburger. I was not a happy camper. I was trying
to stuff more in one end while the other end was raging for relief. But, still,
no one asked any of us if we needed to use the bathroom. This was about 2 PM.
No relief since about 7 AM that morning. The
ride home in the limo was pure hell. I was in constant strain trying to hold it.
And, I succeeded. We arrived back at the school, and Mom was waiting for me grinning
from ear to ear. This was as close as any of our family every got to being big
in Hollywood. I failed to appreciate Mom's joy and told her I needed to go potty
REAL BAD. We
started walking home. Mom carried the stack of Golden Books, and I rode, well,
the horsey rode me. There was no galloping because the horsey was too bow legged
from pinching his rectum shut. Then, I lost it. The horror was beyond description.
Sixty five years later I can still feel it oozing down my legs. Mom would have
ordinarily been a bit stern and encouraged me to try to keep holding it. But,
Mom was so proud that she at once comforted me, and she told me we would stop
at Mrs. Padget's house and get help. I
was amazed. Mom was so nice. But then, when a Hollywood star poops his pants,
and when that star is YOUR kid, well, it does not matter so much. "Good
afternoon, Mrs. Padget, our little Stevie here, the star on CBS radio earlier
today, has just pooped his pants." Mrs. Padget was just as proud of me as
Mom was. She was a very sweet lady "full of good works" like the Bible
says. She almost made a celebration of my disaster. I
walked home sans underwear, and at the next meeting of the Ladies Missionary Fellowship,
I was fawned over and praised and received the doubtful accolade, "So Darling."
Nine year old boys do NOT like to be called Darling. I
flailed to catch the next wave of success and ride it into fame and fortune, and
that is why you have never seen my name on any blockbuster movies since 1953.
Furthermore; if all those famous Hollywood stars have to "hold it" all
day long, I would rather be a farmer anyway. Famers can poop all over the farm
where no one can see them. So,
if you ever see me coming with my cardboard horsey, walking like a crippled frog,
and with a look of intense pain on my face, please clear the road to the facilities.
I am in deep trouble.
 PHILOSOPHICAL
THOUGHT
The
peasants, like Anonymous, Edward Showden, and Wikileaks, worry a lot about the
attitude of the snob elite of this world. These snobs show by their behavior and
words that they think very highly of themselves. Well,
let us peasants console ourselves. When we eat our bangers and chips in the UK,
or our frijoles and tortillas with cheese in the USA, and wash it down with Folger's
coffee because we could not afford a high end lunch..... And,
when we hear of the snobs eating Wasa Crackers and Camembert cheese with a salad
made of Radicchio lettuce, Enoli mushrooms, and capers, and they wash it down
with a glass of Chateau Lafite wine..... Take
comfort folks, the end product of you and the snob rich looks and smells exactly
the same, and theirs is just as repulsive as yours. You, in fact, got the bargain
in the deal. Ecclesiastes
3:19 For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing
befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath;
so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity. And,
admit it, all ye who have grown up in Africa or on the farm, there is some sort
of nostalgia about an outhouse. HERE
ARE ONE LADY'S THOUGHTS.
END
THOUGHTSThoughts
on elimination are rather disorganized, as you can see from this article. This
is because elimination is that way, it often fails to fit into the schedule, no
matter how hard we try to organize it. Witness all your efforts to empty bowels
and bladders of your kids just before a long trip. After thinking you really got
that mastered this time, junior invariably wails, "Mommy, I got to go number
two." And, he always waits until you are halfway between San Angelo and Lubbuck,
Texas, right? We
all, in our younger days, recall the solution from Mom-- "HOLD IT."
That
only made it worse, right? We started hallucinating, having visions of poop all
over the car seat and Dad's wrath. And, we would arrive at Grandma's house becoming
the center of attention in a very undesirable way. Why won't Dad just find a restroom
so we can arrive at grandma's house and have cookies and milk and hugs in peace?
Perhaps this is why there are so few writers who are willing to write about elimination--
it brings back some terrifying memories. Well,
that is the scoop on the poop for now. I
am sure you have your stories to tell, but seldom can you tell them for fear someone
will be offended. It is strange how some natural functions of our lives are kept
off limits. I am not sure exactly why, but it must go back to the Victorian Era
in England. Back then, it was considered improper to even discuss eggs in mixed
company. I personally believe that our taboos over elimination issues are the
reason for all the poop jokes people tell. If elimination were not taboo, the
jokes would be pointless and never hit the fan. LINKS
TO THE LOO:THE
JAPANESE MAKE BATHROOM DESIGN A FETISH AND COMPETE WITH EACH OTHER FOR THE MOST
GLORIOUS ZEN AMBIANCE................
all for a place to leave their poop. KOREANS
HAVE SOME STRANGE TASTES
If you travel to South Korea always ask for green
tea. DEMON
IN THE OUTHOUSE
This is a real life story and extremely rare.
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