Keys, An Outhouse, And A 57 Chevy

It wasn't fair. That's what I remember. I used to do things when I was young. I've been told that I would do things just because someone told me not to. Now, I don't believe it...... although I do take full responsibility for pulling cats tails, throwing rocks at chickens and the mile long white line down the middle of the road (another future story). But this time it just wasn't fair. It just happened, that's all, it just happened !!!!

Near as I can remember, I must have been 6 or so. My brother Mike had a 57 Chevy. It was green...... green with the big chrome fins on the back. Really a pretty car and a collectors item even in 1962. Mike had taken me and a couple of distant cousins from California up the Umpqua River to do some fishing. I don't remember much about fishing that day. What I do remember was having to answer nature's call really bad.

The rivers in western Oregon flow down to the Pacific from high in the Cascades. Along the corridor of the Umpqua River the water flows through canyons flanked by towering mountains covered by equally towering fir and pine trees. Nestled among these trees along the river are campgrounds that are unequalled anywhere I have been. Many of the campsites are as close as a few feet from the water. With the river flowing down the canyons tumbling over volcanic rocks, there is a constant and relaxing sound that once you have heard it, stays with you for the rest of your life. This is the setting for this story, a camp ground along a beautiful river high in the Oregon mountains.

We parked the car in an available campsite as most folks do, and went up the river a ways to get to the best place to fish. Those of you who have fished fast moving rivers know that there are good spots, and better spots. These spots change at any time, based on water height, clarity of the water, temperature, and what bugs are flying around. Being around 6 I had no appreciation for these facts other than I knew fish were in the river, and they ate bugs. If bugs were attached to your fishing line, then they might eat your bug, and wind up as dinner. I think that's a pretty good summary of a 6 year old's understanding of fishing. Needless to say, I got bored, and I'm sure I became more of a nuisance than an good little brother.

The time came when I just had to go. Being a typical 6 year old farm boy, I was perfectly happy to find a tree, which as described earlier, was easy. There are trees everywhere, and each one was inviting. But that's not the relief I was looking for. I have always been confused about the whole #1 and #2 thing. I remember in the second grade being really anxious because we were supposed to know which was which, but I could never keep it straight. Both have the possibility to be equally urgent, but for some reason it made a big difference to Mrs. Clark, who apparently was keeping track statistically. If you raised your hand to use the restroom, you were supposed to show one finger or two fingers. Now that doesn't seem too difficult, but I remember that it didn't really matter which fingers I put up, I still was not allowed to leave the classroom. That's probably why it was so confusing to me. If it didn't matter, why the choice in finger count........ anyway, I had to go what I now understand to be #2, which does not necessitate a tree. If anyone reading this blog has a different understanding of what #2 signifies, please let me know........... on second thought, don't. I'd just get confused again. On with the story........

Somehow, I convinced my brother that I had to go to the outhouse back at the campground. I remember that it was within sight of where we were on the river, so it's not like I was a 6 year old wandering through the woods. What happened next I have not been able to remember why exactly.......... I was supposed to get something from the car. So........I had my brother's keys.

As I headed up the trail Mike hollered after me "don't drop the keys down the hole!!!" I remember those words exactly..... I can hear his voice....... I can see the green trees and the path I was walking on. I can see the river behind him as I looked back and yelled "I won't!!!"
As I walked I said to myself; "don't drop the keys down the hole, don't drop the keys down the hole, don't drop the keys down the hole".

I got what I needed from the car, what ever it was, and headed for the outhouse. I kept repeating "Don't drop the keys down the hole". It was your standard wooden US Forest Service red outhouse with a single door. Back then there were no plastic "cubicles" or fancy molded fixtures. "Don't drop the keys down the hole". These were wooden buildings built over a big hole in the ground and the door had a big spring on it that swung the door back shut with a bang. There wasn't smelly foo foo chemicals to make them smell better either. So guess what...... they stunk. "Don't drop the keys down the hole". So there I was, feeling confident and trusted, but about to open a door that I knew was going to hit me in the butt when I walked in. "Don't drop the keys down the hole". And then, I'd be in that dark, unlit little room with a bottomless pit beneath a hole in the bench that was big enough to swallow me up. I walked up to the outhouse, made sure I had a good grip on the keys, "don't drop the keys down the hole", and pulled the big heavy door opened. I gave it a big pull, hard enough to swing wide so I could jump inside, which I did with all the energy of 6 years. As I stood there, looking at that gaping hole in the bench in front of me, the door slammed back shut, sure enough, smacking me in the rear and knocking me even closer to that bottomless pit. At that point slow motion life took over. People talk about seeing their life flash before them, or seeing the accident in slow motion. I had both. My life flashed before me, which didn't take long because, after all, I was 6. But the slow motion thing I can still see in my mind. The door hit me in the butt and the keys went flying through the air. How they left my hand I do not know. It was like a movie in slow motion...... like when Ralphie hits the hubcap full of lug nuts and they go flying (Christmas Story). Only with me, it was the keys. They went high in the air and landed about an inch to the right of the hole, bounced once, and slid ever-so-slowly slightly to the left. Then, like a slinky, they disappeared into the darkness. All the while I could hear "don't drop the keys down the hole". It seemed like forever, I was in denial....... until I heard the tell tail "splat". Not a splash, not a thud or a plunk, but a gooshie, wet, gooey "splat", and I just knew my life was over. Just as I was coming out of the outhouse door, brother Mike and my cousins were coming up the path from the river. Yep, my short life was over.

I had nothing..... nope.... nothing. No reason, no excuse, no root cause or underlying cause, no earthquake or attacking wildlife, nope.... nothing. It was me, all me. There was nothing I could say other than "I don't know what happened". I still think, after all these years, that hearing that from me had to sound really lame, coming from a kid that was usually guilty of everything. Having survived the initial allocution, we peered down the hole and decided there must be a better way to get home.

Mike's 57 Chevy had a funny quirk. You could remove the keys from the ignition with the engine running. The ignition had "wings" on it much like today's cars, and even with the keys out, you could turn the car on and off, provided the key was never turned all the way to the left before the keys were removed. There was an anxious moment as we looked at the ignition switch in the car. Hallelujah !!! We didn't need the keys !!!!!

When I see that outhouse at Eagle Rock campground on the North Umpqua, I know that there's a set of keys at the bottom of that bottomless pit that fit a shiny green 57 Chevy with chrome fins. Several things remind me of that day. When I put the keys in my ignition, because it's shaped the same way, when I open an outhouse door, when I go fishing. All those things remind me of that day, but what I remember the most is that my brother Mike did not get mad, did not raise his voice, and did not make me feel bad. Most of all, he did not accuse me of doing it on purpose, and I'll always be grateful to him for that.

Lesson Learned?
Outhouses have big heavy doors, and big brothers are kind and forgiving.

Object Lesson?
Whether it's keys to a 57 Chevy or a cell phone, pants have pockets that should be used BEFORE entering outhouses.

Have a great week !!

Martin