by Ken Springer
Everything you’ve ever [or never] wanted to know about outhouses ~ And a dash of bathroom humor
In this edition of For Your Consideration, we will take a deep dive into outhouses. Let me rephrase that – we will explore the fascinating story of how outhouses came into being.
Born in 1949, I am an average run-of-the-mill baby boomer. As such, I loved all the usual 1950s TV series of the day: Roy Rogers, Lassie, Wagon Train, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, and Leave It to Beaver.
I particularly liked the comedy series, I Love Lucy, and, indeed, I loved Lucy because I loved humor as a child and still do. There’s nothing worse than being with a person who takes themselves too seriously, one entirely bereft of humor.
Some years ago, when I worked for a large staffing company, I was asked to train a new employee. That week that I spent with this dull person was the longest month of my life, or so it seemed.
A common joke of the 1950s began with, “There was this traveling salesman.” The usual trope was the omnipresent “farmer’s daughter,” but not the one that I remember most; it was about an outhouse, a two-seater, no less.
There was this traveling salesman driving down a country road when he felt the need to go to the bathroom. He left the road and drove down a long lane to a farmhouse, whereupon he knocked on the door. An older woman opened the door and asked the salesman what he wanted. He replied that he wondered if he could use the restroom facilities.
The woman said, “Why sure, you may, but we only have an outhouse out back, and my husband is currently using it. However, sir, it is a two-seater, so rap on the door and tell Henry what you need.”
Following her instructions, Henry told the salesman to come on in and take a seat. Although awkward for a city dweller, he took a seat next to the farmer to get relief. In the minutes that ensued, the two talked about the weather and such.
When the farmer took care of his needs, he stood up and, in the course of pulling up his bib overalls, a quarter fell out of a pocket and rolled right down the hole. Henry then reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet and dropped a dollar bill into the same hole the quarter had gone down.
The salesman was puzzled by the farmer’s actions and asked why he had done so. Henry just looked at the salesman and stated, “Why, sir, you don’t think I’m going to crawl down that hole for just a quarter, do you?
(Pause reading to chuckle or groan, your choice)
So, how long have outhouses been around? Of course, the Western world was a Johnny-come-lately when it came to modern plumbing. As far back as the first millennium, the Greeks and Romans had running water and sophisticated restrooms.
The concept of outhouses instead of chamber pots began in America during the colonial period, and continues in some locations, including West Virginia, to this very day. I spent Easter afternoon with friends, one of whom has never had indoor plumbing and still uses an outhouse. Not only is she off the grid, but also off the porcelain throne.
In colonial times, the outhouse was often euphemistically called “necessaries”, particularly by women and gentleman farmers. These structures remained the standard of what we now call restrooms well into the 1930s, when most were replaced by indoor plumbing.
I bought a few acres of rural land back in the late 1960s with a house trailer on it. Until I could get a well drilled, I built a two-seater outhouse. And, yes, my wife and I often used the outhouse even after we got running water in the trailer. We even had a magazine rack on the wall that featured Sears & Roebuck catalogs. Because the paper used at the time was non-glossy, it was inexpensive toilet paper. My father-in-law jokingly referred to these catalogs as “Rears and Sorebutts.”
The familiar crescent moon cutout on the door was for ventilation and a little light. However, there is historical evidence that in Colonial times, outhouses were segregated by sex: the crescent moon was for women and the star cutout for men, much as public facilities are today.
Depending on what part of the world you’re in, outhouses are also called privies, dunnys, and long-drops, the last being quite imaginative. China takes a different approach to restroom facilities altogether.
For those, including me, who attended the Beijing Language Institute in the 1980s, a latrine was a hole in a concrete floor over which you squatted. In rural parts of China, going to the toilet was somewhat daunting, especially if you preferred privacy when taking a poo. Imagine sitting on a bamboo pole with your derriere directly over a hole in the ground as villagers passed by, some respectfully ignoring you, while others engaged you in conversation.
Even on the trains, passengers seeking relief did so over a hole in the floor, where one can see the tracks going under you. I finally gave up on maintaining any dignity when nature calls. I shrugged my shoulders and thought of that old rock favorite, “Let it all hang out” by The Hombres, and went about my business at hand.
In public outhouses, one often finds the poetry of necessity on the walls. Harold Sanford Barden was said to have written, “Come one, come all, perform the humble deed, Here beauty bows to duty, and pride makes way for need.”
Of course, there are a lot of bathroom Banksys, some funny, some not exactly in good taste, such as the one commonly found in the mid-20th -century pay toilets: “Here I sit all broken-hearted, paid a dime but only (fill in the blank}.”
There was a phrase common in rural areas that began in the 1930s and is still sometimes used today: “She is built like a brick sh**house.” When this is applied to a woman, it means she is well-proportioned or curvaceous. As a child, I remember hearing this idiom used by men quite frequently, although today it may sound a bit out of touch with modern sensitivities.
In talking to others born in the mid-20th century who grew up using an outhouse, many had stories about unwanted encounters. Snakes and Black Widow spiders figure prominently in such stories. Debbie Lester, a friend who grew up in Wyoming County, remembers the terror of sitting in the outhouse one day and looking up to see a large blacksnake hanging precariously from a beam above her head. Others lamented trips to the outhouse in inclement weather or having to use the facilities in the middle of the night.
Outhouses require some effort to keep them from getting a bit odiferous. And that reminds me of a phrase used by Southeast Asians to describe a spiky fruit called durian: “It smells like an outhouse but tastes like ambrosia.” Every summer, my adopted Vietnamese family brings me several durians, and while the smell does take some getting used to, the yellow flesh is delicious.
To keep an outhouse from smelling like durian, or worse, people in years past would routinely dump hydrated lime down the hole. Also used for this purpose were wood ash, sawdust, peat moss, and cedar shavings. A well-built outhouse usually had good ventilation and seat covers that kept out flies and other pests.
A spectacular view is seldom associated with an outhouse, but I know of one that provides an unforgettable scene for your eyes as you sit on the pot. At 11,600 feet above sea level, the Lower Saddle, connecting the Grand Teton with the Middle Teton, is a high camp for climbers accessing routes on the south face of the Grand Teton.
“The John,” as the climbers called the partially enclosed outhouse behind a massive boulder, offers a breathtaking view of Idaho. However, it’s been nearly 30 years since I climbed the Grand Teton, and the number of climbers has greatly increased, putting more demand on The John.
Since the 1970s, the National Park Service has used helicopters to periodically ferry 60-gallon waste barrels off the mountain, a process climbing rangers call the “sh** shuttle.” Although there are no plans to remove the old john, park officials have instituted a new program that aligns with the “No Trace” ethic, requiring climbers to remove their own waste from the mountain in special plastic bags containing enzymes that help break it down.
There are still outhouses here in Pocahontas County, often found at vacation camps, but some still serve households without running water. You can still build an outhouse in the county, but you must follow the rules established by the state of West Virginia to be legal.
I recently discussed the requirements with Cindy Browning, Administrator of the Pocahontas County Health Department. She referred me to the West Virginia Sewage Treatment and Collection Systems Designated Standards, specifically WV 64 CSR 47 standards for vault privies.
Outhouses with vaults must be at least 50 feet from private wells and 25 feet from public water lines, and 10 feet from property lines. Because outhouses are classified as individual sewage systems, you must obtain a permit to install the system, which must prevent groundwater contamination.
Well, this aging baby boomer is quite happy with my running water and porcelain throne, so I will not be applying for an outhouse permit, unless my well runs dry.
Until next time,
Ken Springer
ken1949bongo@gmail.com
