The facts of this account were directly related to me by Murv Banner, a great storyteller and a principal in the adventure. I embellished a bit, but Murv stood by the truth of it all. We dearly miss Murv, who passed away shortly after this story was finished.
It started the night Tony walked off to pee in the bushes. It was as much an act of defiance as capitulation. While his 82 year old bladder had dictated the timing, Tony was making a statement. The pool bathroom was locked. Tony peed on the bush outside the manager’s office.
The Seaside Heights apartment complex was not near any sea and there were no hills in sight. Advertised for “55 and older”, the youngest tenant was one year shy of 70 and the oldest was 98. There were no nurses around; these were hearty independent people. There was a community pool, next to the manager’s office, and a short walk across the lawn from the pool was a gazebo. The pool was mostly ignored during the hot days. But when the sun got low in the late afternoon, it became a social hotbed.
They came with canes, in wheel chairs, and unencumbered. They set up around the pool, arranging chairs in the same positions each day. Most brought plastic bottles of water to sip. A few brought glasses of wine. Edna brought a thermos of orange juice spiked with vodka. It was all rather civilized and it always broke up before dark. People left for dinner, and people left because the pool bathroom was locked by the manager at five p.m.
This delicate balance was upset when Murv moved in. Murv was an ex-marine in his mid 70’s. He liked scotch whiskey, and he liked it a lot. Murv soon met Charlie and Tony, two other ex-marines who agreed that whiskey was a reasonable supplement to their water bottles. The fact that each of their doctors had forbidden them alcohol mattered little. They had stories to tell.
Each night the boys stayed later and got louder. The others tried to ignore them and then they tried to make them unwelcome. After a few ugly incidents, the boys decided to cross the lawn and set up in the gazebo. This became their gathering place and a semblance of order was restored at the pool. The truce was threatened the night Tony walked off into the bushes.
“This is not good,” Murv observed. “We can’t have Tony peeing in the bushes.”
“What can we do?” asked Charlie. “Everybody has complained, and the manager refuses to leave the bathroom unlocked.”
“It’s too damn far to his apartment, ” Murv continued. Charlie nodded wisely. They both rattled their ice and poured more scotch. Murv took a few long sips and thought.
“Damn,” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “I got it!”
“Got what?” asked Charlie.
“What we need is an outhouse,” Murv said. It was so obvious. Charlie thought about it after a long drink of whiskey.
“That ain’t gonna work,” he finally said.
“Why not?”
“Management is not going to like an outhouse. They’ll remove it soon as we put it up.”
“Not if they don’t know about it,” answered Murv. He sat back triumphant and took another sip of scotch. Charlie nodded and they clinked glasses.
“How would they not know about it?” Charlie finally asked.
“We’ll make it portable.”
“Portable?”
“Yeah. We bring it out at night and we put it back before morning.” Murv lifted his glass. Charlie thought it over.
“That just might work,” he said, and then added as if convincing himself: “That really might work.” He drank some more whiskey. “Where would we keep it?”
“In my van,” answered Murv.
The next day Murv , Charlie, and Tony drove to an appliance store and found the shipping carton of a large side-by-side refrigerator out back. From there, they drove to a hardware store and bought several rolls of duct tape and a razor knife.
That afternoon they met early in the gazebo and waited for the manager to lock up and drive away. The threesome then leapt up and shuffled out to the parking lot. Murv and Charlie wrestled the box out of the back of the van and Tony grabbed the duct tape and knife. They propped up the box inside the gazebo and studied it.
“It needs two windows,” offered Tony. “A guy’s got to have some fresh air in an outhouse.” The others nodded in agreement. Across the pool, a group of people in chairs strained to make out what was going on at the gazebo.
“They got some kind of box,” one finally said.
“They’re up to something,” another said. They all nodded in agreement.
A month passed. Each night the boys walked out to the parking lot to retrieve their work-in-progress. Duct tape soon gave way to spray paint. Murv decided they needed a grass roof, for a more tropical look. This consumed two weeks of gathering grass clippings and several trips to the hardware store for glue. At the end of each night, they returned everything to Murv’s van.
At the pool there were frequent side glances, but nobody would acknowledge interest. There were some things best ignored. Most nights, however, some neighbor would wander over. Here was a typical exchange:
“What are you boys up to?”
“Building us an outhouse.” Silence.
“We had to do something.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s going to be a four holer.”
“Well, good luck with it.”
Word spread. The residents quickly divided into two camps: for and against. The most vociferous against was Edna. Her apartment overlooked the spot where they planned to set it up. She grew more indignant each night she glanced over at the gazebo. Finally she could take it no longer. She fortified herself with a second thermos of orange juice and crossed the neutral ground.
“You boys had better give up on this idea.”
“Don’t worry. It will be open to everybody.”
“I don’t want no outhouse near my apartment.”
“It’s got to be somewhere. It will be gone during the day.”
“I don’t want it at night either.”
“You won’t even see it.”
“I will too. There’s walkway lamps right near there.”
“Walkway lamps? We didn’t think about that …”
Finally, the day came. It was July 4th weekend and the manager would be gone for three days. Friday night they left it set up, for everybody to admire the next day. The boys celebrated late into the night and Tony peed on the bush one last time.
Early the next morning, a maintenance man arrived and removed the outhouse. Somebody had tipped off the manager. Tuesday morning, Murv stomped into the office. There was a heated exchange as he demanded his property back. The manager threatened to evict him. Murv threatened civil disobedience.
“There’s a lot of folks on my side,” he observed darkly.
The manager relented. Murv would get the outhouse back. But in return, he had to agree to not keep or use it on the grounds. The manager gave him a key to the pool bathroom. It was all smiles and handshakes.
Charlie and Tony were disappointed that peace had been restored.
“Shame. All that work,” mused Charlie that night over a glass of scotch.
“Yeah,” agreed Tony. “I liked the tropical colors and that half moon cutout. The grass roof was brilliant.”
“All gone to waste,” continued Charlie. Murv smiled broadly.
“I agreed we wouldn’t set up an outhouse,” Murv observed. “But I didn’t say anything about a taco stand.” Charlie and Tony thought about that for a moment. They raised their glasses with wide smiles.
“How about Tuesday’s,” offered Charlie. “We’ll call it Taco Tuesday.”
Three glasses clinked.
James K. Richardson