DURING THE FIRST 11 years of my life, I lived in a cramped three-bedroom farmhouse in southwestern Minnesota with my parents and four siblings, my third brother not yet born.
The house, albeit aged and plain, provided necessary shelter for our family. But, unlike most rural homes in the area, ours did not have a bathroom. Instead, we used a two-hole outhouse during the warm months and a pot on the porch during the winter.
It was not the outhouse, but rather the red-rimmed white enamel porch pot which I remember with particular disdain. Cold nipped at my butt in the frosty uninsulated and unheated porch. And the pot, naturally, reeked of feces and urine. I couldn’t remove the lid and slap it back on fast enough.
Stone Valley General Store, 110 Pine Street, located in the old Engesser Brewery on the south side of St. Peter.
With that memory, you will understand why I was especially fascinated by the Heap’s Patent Dry Earth Closet I found recently at the Stone Valley General Store, an antiques/collectibles/consignment shop in St. Peter.
And we’re not talking clothes closet here.
We’re talking water closet, minus the water.
Not just a fine piece of furniture, but a toilet. The door opens to reveal a urine receptacle on the inside of the door and a pail tucked underneath.
William Heap & Sons of Muskegon, Michigan, so my research reveals, patented this stylish bedroom commode in 1886 and promoted it as “perfectly inodorous.” The idea was to sprinkle odor absorbing ash or earth into the galvanized bucket which came with the unit before doing your duty. A separate porcelain receptacle on the closet door collected urine.
The urine collector which hangs on the door.
In theory it all sounds so wonderful:
No water! No drain! They are simply invaluable… ABOLISH THE PRIVY-PIT!…Secure health, comfort and cleanliness…
You can almost hear the infomercial, can’t you, with these units priced from $8 – $13 and “25,000 already in use.” That’s the pitch in an ad placed in the “Household Necessaries” section of The Cosmopolitan.
Jackie posted these instructions with the dry earth closet.
According to Jackie Hoehn, owner of the Stone Valley General Store, the Heap’s Dry Earth Closet she is selling for $1,500 was used at the Mayo Clinic and the State Hospital in St. Peter.
No trying out the dry earth closet in Jackie’s shop.
Now, I didn’t ask Jackie how she acquired this toilet or when. But I expect she may be sitting on it for awhile. Not literally, of course.
© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
What a great piece of history!!! I love the handwritten description—why don’t we all have these in our houses now??? Well….maybe I know why!!! Great find, Audrey!
I may have taken this over the pot on the porch. But then there would have been no room for the Maytag wringer washer.
Two-holer! my how upscale. We had a one-holer and pot on the porch until I was about 11. Got electricity a little earlier. My father gave my mother an electric range when I was about 16. She would only use it to make coffee for many years, and heat water for canning. She said she could not control the temperature in the oven of the electric range.
And we had a Maytag wringer washer on the porch. I should post my poem “My Mother’s Washing Stick.”
Oh, “the washing stick,” you are bringing back the memories. I had forgotten about that. Yes, do post your poem. Quite comical that distrust your mother had for the electric range. Perhaps, though, I can compare that to my initial concerns about all things computer. No way would I want to return to the typewriter.
Having never dealt with such on a daily basis (just summer vacations to resorts with the rustic 2-holer!) I can’t even begin to imagine the winter routine! In today’s world, raising a family/living in a home with only 1 bathroom (as opposed to a bath per household resident!!!!!??) is difficult to grasp for many. In some ways we have come far but in others we have lost so much quality of real living/life. Sad….and thankful….mixed thoughts/emotions for sure!
We have only one bathroom in our house, which is fine by me, except when it’s occupied and I need to use the facilities. We’ve managed with three kids and one bathroom. Less to clean also.
Because Randy and I both grew up in poor farm families with little in the way of material possessions, we truly appreciate what we have. We have a combo shower/bath tub. As a child, I bathed only on Saturday nights when Dad lugged the old tin tub into the kitchen. And, yes, gasp, we kids shared bath water. Sometimes in the summer Dad would string a garden hose through the porch window and we would “shower” on the lawn on the east side of the house. A kid was always posted to “watch the driveway” should an unexpected visitor choose to drive into the yard at that time. Such memories…
Totally understand even though I/we have not ‘lived’ it. We often joke that if something like a Lottery win would come our direction what would change and we agree probably nothing.
Fascinating piece of history – thanks for sharing! I still remember when my grandmother received her first modern washing machine – the one she used could take your arm off – despised that machine. Have a Great Day:)
Yes, I believe a wringer washer could take one’s arm off.
So fancy. I, too, remember an outhouse. It was at my grandparents in Pennsylvania. They lived far from town and used an outhouse in my younger years. There was also a pot indoors for nighttime emergencies. I never minded the outhouse, but then, I only had to use it on visits.
Yes, visits and everyday are two different things. Thanks for sharing your outhouse story.
Very interesting and informative post! Outhouses have always fascinated me, they are right up there with, barns, cemeteries, old schools and churches. I have many photo’s of outhouses in old country cemeteries, I guess that was a common things. I’ve actually used them in a pinch HA
You know, I don’t think I can recall ever seeing an outhouse in a cemetery. And I’ve tromped through many a cemetery to study gravestones.
Oh, my! I have a wonderful outhouse photo in my bathroom of an old one my Dad took years ago on Orcas Island. He titled the photo “three-holer” because three of the four glass panes in the door were broken. I’m not sure I’d have wanted a window in my outhouse!
No windows in our outhouse.
We used to call sweaters like the pretty striped one I the picture “poor boys” back in the day. We wore them with embroidered hip-hugger blue jeans and “Charlie Brown” shoes while sporting shag haircuts. I wore these things, but alas, I was never cool. Now YOU, Audrey. You were cool!
Well, thank you, dear former high school classmate and lockermate. But you must be thinking of someone else. I was never cool in high school. But I really did not care.
Never had a shag haircut, only long straight hair.
So, poor boys? I cannot remember that, but will trust your excellent memory.
I have one! Its very well built entirely from mahogany and belonged to a State Senator from CT originally. I’ve been looking for information on it and possible value for years.
Now that is interesting. How did you acquire yours, Bryan? Happy to have shared some info with you on the dry earth closet.