In these days of the high-tech Japanese superloo it would be hard to think of a suitable publication to accompany its use. In earlier times, when it was considered more correct to say ‘lavatory’ rather than ‘toilet’, there would have been little hesitation in the selection of Charles Sale’s The Specialist (1929) for that purpose. At a time when the nuances of class-defining language were more finely tuned than now, most middle-class households across the country would have owned a copy of this modest little book.
Lem Putt, the specialist of the title, is a Midwest American carpenter from Sangamon County, Illinois. The author Charles Sale claimed he was based on a real person whose particular métier was the construction of outside privies. The text is ostensibly a first-person monologue concerning the design, situation, materials and building methods of the necessary structure, but it also reveals a shrewd understanding of human nature and insights into the psychological idiosyncrasies of his clients.
Whether a basic two-holer or an impressive eight-holer, the siting of a privy is crucial: not anywhere near a fruit tree as the sound of windfalls hitting the roof might be disconcerting; not where the earth is poorly drained, making the approach slippery – particularly hazardous for night-time visits by the elderly. Construction favours sturdy beams rather than joists, because ‘your Aunt Emmy, she ain’t gettin’ a mite lighter’.
Lem observes too that ‘there’s a lot of fine points to puttin’ up a first-class privy that the average man don’t think about’. The hole should be dug deep and wide: ‘a mighty sight better to have a little privy over a big hole than a big privy over a little hole’. Most import ant is the ‘anchoring’ of the structure, which should have a stout ti
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Subscribe now or Sign inIn these days of the high-tech Japanese superloo it would be hard to think of a suitable publication to accompany its use. In earlier times, when it was considered more correct to say ‘lavatory’ rather than ‘toilet’, there would have been little hesitation in the selection of Charles Sale’s The Specialist (1929) for that purpose. At a time when the nuances of class-defining language were more finely tuned than now, most middle-class households across the country would have owned a copy of this modest little book.
Lem Putt, the specialist of the title, is a Midwest American carpenter from Sangamon County, Illinois. The author Charles Sale claimed he was based on a real person whose particular métier was the construction of outside privies. The text is ostensibly a first-person monologue concerning the design, situation, materials and building methods of the necessary structure, but it also reveals a shrewd understanding of human nature and insights into the psychological idiosyncrasies of his clients. Whether a basic two-holer or an impressive eight-holer, the siting of a privy is crucial: not anywhere near a fruit tree as the sound of windfalls hitting the roof might be disconcerting; not where the earth is poorly drained, making the approach slippery – particularly hazardous for night-time visits by the elderly. Construction favours sturdy beams rather than joists, because ‘your Aunt Emmy, she ain’t gettin’ a mite lighter’. Lem observes too that ‘there’s a lot of fine points to puttin’ up a first-class privy that the average man don’t think about’. The hole should be dug deep and wide: ‘a mighty sight better to have a little privy over a big hole than a big privy over a little hole’. Most import ant is the ‘anchoring’ of the structure, which should have a stout timber running from top right straight on down five foot into the ground. This precaution is to protect against young hooligans on the loose at Hallowe’en oversetting it – especially important if it is occupied at the time. Then a lean-to roof is preferred over a pitched one; fewer corners for wasps to build their nests. The door should open inwards for the better convenience of the incumbent, and face east to catch the sun. Lem also discusses the merits of the various shapes for the ‘ventilator’ hole in the door – stars, diamonds, crescents, hearts – and he has astute observations to make about differ ent styles of door latch, contrasting schemes of paint and the delicate issue of what in our time is marketed as ‘toilet tissue’. Corn cobs anyone? Charles ‘Chic’ Sale had an acting career in vaudeville and later in film. The Specialist came about in the first instance as an evening entertainment at Rotary Club dinners, before finding its way into print as a stage version and finally as the little book we know, published by Putnam’s in 1929. Sale was well-known as a character actor and one can easily imagine the homespun philosophy of his humorous monologues, delivered in a slow Midwestern drawl, being popular with audiences between the wars. Fame of a kind came when ‘Chic Sale’ was coined as a euphemism for the outdoor lavatory. Charles Sale and Putnam’s were fortunate in enlisting William Kermode to provide the ideal black-and-white illustrations for the book. Kermode was an Australian artist working in Britain, and his principal medium was the linocut. The subtle but rough-looking cuts perfectly complement Lem’s rustic vernacular speech. (Kermode also wrote about linocut technique and created posters for the London Underground.) The Specialist has something more than just period charm about it. The humour is quaint but can still raise a smile. By the standards of the time, it was neither coarse nor coy in dealing with a subject seldom mentioned then. It’s a sympathetic portrait of that rare creature, a workman proud of his skill and free with honest advice. We may not now require the services of someone to build an outside privy, but should we come across a latter-day Lem Putt sanitary engineer we would surely recommend him.Extract from Slightly Foxed Issue 91 © David Eccles 2026
About the contributor
David Eccles began life on an Irish farm which was indeed equipped with an outside privy. Engaged variously in graphic design, publishing, publicity and illustration, his work has been used by a variety of clients including bicycle journals, the Folio Society and even Slightly Foxed. The illustrations in this article are by William Kermode.
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