The outhouse was the first thing I spotted when I turned the corner on the ramp overlooking the back lot at the auction house. There it stood without leaning, with its gray weather-beaten boards and slanted corrugated tin roof intact.
Even placed back against a wall, it stood out among the other throwaways on the lot, but why wouldn’t it. Who’d ever expect to see an outhouse – or privy – at auction.
Was it ever used, I wondered, and asked the auctioneer-owner. He didn’t know, but suspected that it “was probably used in its day.”
Every now and then, the outhouse attracted some lookers. “I’m too tall for that,” a male regular joked. “If a wind comes and blows it over, what happens to me.” In stark terms, he went on to belittle country folks in one particular southern state who he figured would be quite comfortable with it in their backyard.
His image of outhouses and rural populations was straight out of Al Capps’ immensely popular “Li’l Abner” comic strip. Starting in 1934, Capp satirized a family of mountain hillbillies surnamed Yokum in Dogpatch, USA. The family used an outhouse, and Li’l Abner, the main character, had a job at one point cutting out crescent moons on the doors of outhouses made by a privy company.
The structure at auction was about 6 feet tall or so, and narrow. Since it had been placed squarely on the pebble ground, its door would not open. But you could peer into the dark inside through the crescent moon, but you couldn’t see anything because there was nothing to see.
When people think of outhouses, they usually associate them with rural homes with no indoor plumbing – as in the stereotypical view espoused by the auction-goer. That was not true, though. Temple University Libraries in Philadelphia has photos from the 1920s to 1950s of outhouses in residential areas of the city.
This was the first outhouse I’d ever seen at auction, but not my first encounter with the mention of one. A few years ago, I picked up a funny book at auction about a man who made outhouses. Titled “The Specialist,” it told the fictional story of Lem Putt, the best privy builder in the county, who marveled at his handiwork in the same way as painters: “There sits that privy on that knoll near the woodpile, painted red and white, mornin’ glories growin’ up over her and Mr. Sun bathin’ her in a burst of yeller color as he drops back of them hills.’
The real Lem Putt was a carpenter, but the outhouse-builder came from the imagination of a 1920s vaudeville comedian and actor named Charles (Chic) Sale. He paid two newspaper reporters to put his outhouse monologue into a book to keep it from being copied or stolen by other actors.
Outhouses were common behind homes and businesses before sewage systems were erected in various cities from the mid- to late 19th century and indoor plumbing arrived in the 1900s. It did not become widespread in rural areas until around the 1950s.
Here are some things you may not know about outhouses:
Some say the crescent moon dates to colonial times to help men and women – many of whom were illiterate – to tell which one they should use. Women’s outhouses had crescent moons and men had stars. But there is some debate over whether or not this is true. The crescent opening, carved on the door high above the toilet seat, was said to allow for light and ventilation, but one outhouse maker said it was used to open the door before latches were attached to outhouses. Well-made structures had pipes running from the roof to vent gases.
During the Depression, the federal Works Project Administration (WPA) undertook a program to build outhouses – mostly in rural areas – with one and two seats (for adults and children), cement floors and vent pipes. The purpose was to improve sanitary conditions and hygiene, and prevent diseases. Construction of privies was one of the New Deal jobs that put the unemployed to work.
Outhouses were given all kinds of names, including the White House and backhouse, as the WPA structures were called.
They were just as common in other countries as in the United States. Most of Australia had them until the mid-20th century, and some of its large cities until the 1970s.
They are time capsules containing artifacts of how we lived.
As for the outhouse at auction, it sold for $250. Maybe someone will use it as a place to store sodas or beer at a party, the male auction-goer suggested.
How would you use it? Or would you?
