Outhouse Door

[mickeyobe]

Ron Herron asked Sherri, "You sure that's an outhouse door? Don't see any half moon?

Here you are, Ron. Just to put you at ease.

You see, I haven't been sitting around doing nothing in my search for doors. This one didn't pass.

Exakta VX II a. Kodak Gold 100.
Behind the 1 room school house Black Creek Pioneer Village, Toronto.

Mickey

[John Parry]

Mickey

Er - how do you get into it? At least it's fully compliant with ventilation requirements!!

Regards - John

[mickeyobe]

John,

A rear Entrance???

Mickey

[Randy]

Mickey, you didn't try it out did you? ;D

[GeneW]

Hmmmm. I can see the hinges on the door, but the entrance isn't exactly 'user friendly' is it?

Gene

[mickeyobe]

Randy,
Way back in the 1940's, and 50's I was sent to a summer camp that had crescent moon facilities. I learned then to stay a good phew away from them. They had all kinds of creepy visitors including hoards of flies, bees, hornets, wasps and crawling things and even the occasional garter snake. And slivers were an ever present danger.

John,
Look carefully at the frame on the right side of the door. You will see that the wood is worn away. This, undoubtedly, from generations of children clawing frantically to get in.

When were doorknobs invented?

Mickey

[kiev4a]

In the past few years outhouses have pretty much disappeared in this area. When I was growing up there were a lot of 'em around although most of the houses that had them also had upgraded to indoor plumbing. Below is a newspaper column I wrote back in the '80s that won first place in the state newspaper competition that year:

Not important . . .but possibly of interest

It pays for a cowboy to consider all of the possibilities before he “slaps leather.”

Silver City is an old mining camp located in a narrow gulch high in Idaho’s Owyhee Mountains. Many of the structures in the town date to the 1860s. The only way to reach Silver City in the winter is by snowmobile. But in the summer many property owners show up to make repairs on their homes -- or just sit on their front porches and soak in the silence.

It was a hot summer day in the late 1970s when George decided it was time to improve the sanitary facilities at his cabin on the steep hillside above Jordan Creek. George's project involved rehabilitating the outhouse. The privy, which was attached to the cabin via the woodshed, had developed a noticeable tilt. It appeared to be in danger of detaching itself from the main structure and sliding down the rocky slope.

George devoted considerable time and sweat to getting the outhouse straight with the world and solidly braced. One final task remained.

To comply with government rules, George had placed an empty 55-gallon metal drum, with one end removed, under the seat in the outhouse. A Bureau of Land Management truck was supposed to stop by periodically, pump out the barrel and haul the contents to a disposal site. The pumping concept had environmental merit but contained a major flaw. The bureaucrats, back in the city, with their flush-at-a-touch toilets, didn't have the foggiest notion how fast things can accumulate under an outhouse. George's cup was about to run over and the BLM pumper wasn't due for several weeks.

George decided he would have to take individual action. After careful consideration, he concluded the best way to solve the problem would be to poke a few holes in the bottom of the barrel so the excess could drain off. The problem was, the only way to reach the barrel bottom was through about four feet of you know what.

But George came up with a plan. He marched off in search of a long, pointed steel bar. He figured he could use the bar to punch the necessary holes. But he found, to his dismay, that none of his neighbors had such a tool.

His original plan thwarted, George sat down, opened a beer, enjoyed the sunny day and considered alternatives. About four beers later, he had an inspiration.

George remembered that Jim, an Owyhee County rancher, was in town. Jim’s ancestors were among the first settlers in Owyhee County. Jim summered at the family cabin in Silver City when his cattle were grazing in the high country. More importantly, Jim was the proud owner of an almost new .357 magnum revolver.

Back in the 1970s, the .357 magnum revolver was one of the most powerful handguns available. It could fire a bullet through an automobile engine block and the projectile would emerge from the far side with enough energy left to take a good sized chunk out of a brick wall. George reasoned that a weapon that can kill a car could easily punch a couple of holes in the bottom of a barrel of .....

George strolled up the street and presented his idea to Jim. Jim, who loved demonstrating his firearm prowess, readily agreed to participate.

George led Jim to the outhouse. Jim positioned himself above the hole. He cocked the revolver. Holding it at arms length, he pointed it into the darkness below.

George was about to lean over Jim's shoulder to watch the hole punching operation when it occurred to him that the report of a gun in the confined interior of the outhouse would probably loosen all the wax in his ears. At about the same moment he remembered a day, many years past, when his high school physics teacher talked about displacement, mass and velocity. George casually stepped back into the attached woodshed, leaving Jim alone in the outhouse.

George was right about the noise. When Jim pulled the trigger, the .357 bellowed and bucked. The sound, however, turned out to be the least of Jim's worries.

The bullet left the barrel of the pistol traveling at about 1,400 feet per second. The lead pellet was moving faster than the speed of sound when it smacked into the semi liquid in the metal drum below. Anything traveling that fast moves a great deal of material out of the way when it hits something. As the bullet continued downward, the stuff it displaced traveled upward -- out of the barrel, through the hole in the seat and into the outhouse proper.

The report of the gun was followed by a period of silence. Finally, Jim turned slowly and looked at George. Jim's shiny gun was no longer shiny and his shirt was no longer clean.

George says, all things considered, Jim took the incident quite well. The thing that was toughest for him to accept was that his gun, a weapon that can penetrate solid steel, failed to knock a hole in the bottom of a rusty barrel full of aromatic material.

Live and learn.

[PeterW]

Priceless story, Wayne. And well written. I loved it.

Reminds me that years ago I had a little book called The Specialist, all about a guy that specialised in building outhouses. Very humourous!

PeterW

[kiev4a]

Thanks, Peter. High praise from someone with your credentials.

Wayne

[John Parry]

Nice one Wayne.

When I was at school in deepest Lancashire, one of our set books was George Orwell's "The Road to Wigan Pier", in which he tells of the social conditions to be found in the Lancashire town of that name. One of the passages described the kitchens, where the inhabitants would take it in turns to bathe in a zinc bathtub (normally kept behind the outside toilet door). The pecking order was smallest child, upwards to the man of the house (who, in Wigan would normally be a coal miner), with the bath being replenished with panfuls of hot water from the coal cooking 'range' (No running water - never mind hot water in those days).

After reading this passage to the class, the teacher, who was new to the school and the area, started waxing lyrical about the inhuman conditions that the poor unfortunates had to live with back in the bad old days. As I remember, it was really quite a heartfelt speech. He ground to a halt as he realised that it wasn't receiving the reaction he'd anticipated. Instead of shock and horror, it was greeted with somewhat wry contempt.

The reason? Many of the boys lived in conditions exactly like those described in Orwell's book (although there would be cold running water by that time). The teacher left at the end of that term. I've often wondered if he went on to become a Member of Parliament.

Regards - John

[jack]

I remember thoses days, saturday night every week.

Jack

[vintageslrs]

Wayne

Great story!

I guess they both learned a bit about ballistics and water that day.

Bob

[herron]

Wayne:
That story is priceless. Thanks!

When I was a kid, my grandfather had a house with no indoor plumbing. Water came from a well outside the back door, and "the facilities" were in a weathered little shack at the end of a long path through the weeds, with a little half moon on it, just like in Mickey's picture (although Granddad's was in the door, not above it).

Had the same opening arrangement too. No need for fancy hardware, when the gap was large enough to insert a finger, and the door pulled open willingly. It closed inside with a small wood block screwed into the back of the door that you turned 90° to prevent it opening from the outside while you were in there (had to keep your privacy, after all).

It was terrible to use in the winter, but at least there were no bugs. I hated it.

Helped my Granddad lay the flooring and erect the walls of his "new" place -- which would have an indoor facility -- when I was 17...in the summer of 1965. He was building the new house for their 50th wedding anniversary...and it was the first time their home had running water!

They were still living there when my Grandmother passed away in 1986. Grandad followed in '90. Lots of folks take it for granted that those conveniences always existed. Of course, my kids think TV has been around for centuries, too.