Floodgates Open in Response to Essay on Saving Water

My humble suggestion for a simple means of water conservation has provoked much enthusiastic support and, surprisingly, some complaints.

My idea, you may recall, was that men might use the garden rather than the bathroom, when practical, thus saving four to six gallons of water per flush.

But some readers have protested vociferously against what they see as my descent into vulgarity.

“Mr. Smith, you are a dirty old man,” writes a woman in Lincoln Heights.

“Repugnant,” says a man in Woodland Hills.

“There is such a ridiculous fastidiousness in this country about such matters,” writes Eric Heath of San Diego, putting it in perspective.

Actually, I believe I was exquisitely delicate in dealing with a subject that might be expected to offend many readers, and I assumed that in performing such a public service, I would be forgiven any suspicion of bad taste.

That the subject does have its lighter side is reflected in other correspondence.

“Early every morning,” writes actor Charlton Heston, “when I go for the paper with my dog along our ridge, we mark adjacent trees, as I also did once in the Bohemian Grove, with Henry Kissinger at the next redwood.”

Heston was not thinking of the practice as a method of water conservation but as an expression of the male’s primitive instinct to mark his boundaries.

“I’m sure Adam marked the boundaries of the Garden of Eden. I don’t know whether Eve approved, but her daughters certainly don’t, as you pointed out. Their attitudes range from disdain to outrage. . . .”

Heston also concedes the patriotic aspects of this ancient rite. “Now, in desperate times, we can find redemption as water savers. Water saviors, even?”

Heston believes that men can redeem themselves by taking Navy showers (wet down; turn shower off; soap; turn shower on; rinse) and cutting down to four flushes a day. “We’ll be heroes, Jack, and earn the thanks of a grateful state.”

Robert H. Harrison of Paso Robles says he thinks my idea is excellent, but notes that it has some risks. Harrison lives in the country and “I water an oak tree rather than pansies.”

One day while his wife was out on errands he was sitting in his skivvies watching television when he felt the call. He went outdoors, leaving the door ajar. But as soon as he took two steps, the forced-air blower came on and the door blew shut. He spent an hour outdoors in 30 degrees. “I was standing by the smallest window with a rock in my hand when my wife returned. She has never thought much of this water-saving technique and found some humor in the fact that I was turning blue.”

Jerry B. Esten of Northridge also warns of the risks: “I know if I should ever be cast away on a deserted island all I need do is attempt to relieve myself and three or four people will show up, usually my wife’s bridge group.

“In Hawaii once on a deserted beach, much to my children’s glee, a tour bus of blue-haired ladies showed up and caught me in the act.”

Ruth Maronde of Port Hueneme testifies to the salubrious effects of my method on plants. Her husband used it to irrigate a bird of paradise plant, which developed into probably the world’s largest. “The plant grew to monumental height and produced not only one bird on a stalk, but two.”

James R. Pratley of Rancho Bernardo, a retired Forest Ranger, deplores my “indelicate” disregard of the fact that some of my neighbors might have seen me. “Even when roaming the woods as a ranger, I observed at least a modicum of decency, for there was always the possibility that there might be others in the woods at the same time and in nearly the same place.”

I can’t imagine what precautions Pratley took if he was in the woods. Besides, it seems to me that one of the reasons for being in the woods is to indulge in what Heston calls man’s territorial imperative.

Dixon Gayer, an English professor, writes: “Your comment about neighbors who might want to report you for exposure if they were to see you through their binoculars--(‘I’ll remind them that they don’t have to look’)--reminds me of a story we printed in the Pelican, the UC Berkeley humor magazine, when I was a staffer in the ‘40s.”

Members of the Zeta Gamma Beta sorority were offended when the males of a next-door fraternity failed to pull the shades when they undressed. So they wrote the following note:

“The members of Zeta Gamma Beta do not appreciate your nightly course in Anatomy 101.”

To which the fraternity brothers responded: “To the members of Zeta Gamma Beta: Please be advised that the course is optional.”

I remind my neighbors of that.