The finest outhouse ever
Iwas looking though Facebook and someone had put a picture of an outhouse on it. They had asked the question “does anyone know what this is?” Of course I did, it was an outhouse.
I knew because I was raised up back when there was one sitting out behind every house. They said “share if you have ever used one.” I didn’t share, but believe me when I say that I have used them. I have used them when the weather was hot and you held your breath while in it. I also used them when it was so cold that you tried to keep your shirt down over your bottom while the ice cold wind blew up though the hole.
There were all kind of outhouses back in those days. There were those that sat behind what we called the rich people’s houses. They were fancy-made and looked like a child’s playhouse. Only difference between a child’s playhouse was the smell and, instead of furniture, there were one or two holes in a raised-up seat.
I had a friend in school who had one of those fancy outhouses. While playing with him one day I used the excuse to use the outhouse because I wanted to see inside of it. I stepped in and closed the door. This was on a hot day. There was no difference in the smell, but the inside looked like a rich man’s house.
There were covers over the holes. This was the first outhouse that I had ever seen with two holes. There were windows on each side of it with curtains on them. I stood and looked in amazement. I looked around for paper but could not see a catalog anywhere. A roll of funny-looking paper was on a roll of some sort, hanging on the wall. I pulled off a piece of it and smelled of it. I will never forget the surprise that I got. It smelled like spice. It was the kind that you put in fried apple pies.
I pulled off a big piece and put it in my pocket. I remember asking my mother what it was and what did you do with it. Boy did I get a shock when she told me rich folks wiped their bottoms with it. I remember thinking I would stick with the catalog. Who wanted to walk around with their bottom smelling like apple pie?
Time went on and I got to where it was a chore to get up in the middle of a cold night, put on your clothes and go out to the outhouse. I think everybody will remember that most everyone had a potty that sat under the bed. You used it during the night, and in the morning you emptied it into the outhouse. Any way you looked at it, you had to hit the cold mornings. The potty was a household item for many a year. I have seen some mighty fancy ones sitting under beds. I once knew a woman who collected potties.
We moved to Reece Street in North Rome. I was working in construction at that time. A dream had come true; we had a two-hole outhouse.
They were rare in rental houses at that time. When we tore out lumber the man in charge of the construction would give the lumber to us. The man who drove the truck for the company lived two doors up from me. He would bring all the old used lumber and dump it off at my house. I began to rebuild our outhouse.
I began by putting a red tin roof on it. Even in the moonlight it stood out. A mixture of paint, which turned out to be a nice dark gray, put the finishing touch to the outside. I had neighbors who would walk by just to see what was next.
We were tearing out an office building when I got the toilets seats. Man, they were pretty and white. They went in and covered the holes. I put cardboard around the walls and then paneled them. It looked good. Into each side a holder was put to place the catalog in. Then I remembered the rolled paper that made your bottom smell like apple pie.
I went to the five-and-dime and bought me a package of it. I smiled all the way home. I got home and tore the paper open. What a disappointment. The paper did not smell like apple pie. It had an odor, but it smelled more like a perfume that the girls wore in those days. I believe that they called it spice. Oh what the heck, I thought, placing the spiced paper in the outhouse. A spice bottom would smell better than an old catalog.
One of my neighbors let curiosity get the best of her. She had been up the street to the store. She stopped and asked if she could use the outhouse. My mother said help herself. We waited for her to come back.
I had began to think she wasn’t coming back when the door opened. She came up to my mother and said, “All my life I have never seen an outhouse that was a pleasure to go in.” She pointed to our outhouse, “That is, without a doubt, the finest one I have ever been in.”