January, the rest of it.

 My privy digging has taken me mainly into the green, and sometimes, not so green, backyards of my neighbors and neighborhood, since digging my first pits in my own yard some 6 years ago. I’ve been on construction sites a few times in the past, looking for and digging privies, and with really decent results. It was not my normal thing though, and while it was a refreshing change of pace, it was also somewhat intimidating. Instead of a postage stamp sized back yard with visible boundaries, now I was on a vast, clay coated hillside. What was fill dirt, and what was undisturbed ? Where was the original grade of the lots ? The clay was mixed with ash and strewn all about in the criss-crossing tracks of the bulldozer. This construction site was open, with no fence, and was crawling with folks. Some were collecting firewood, some limestone rocks, and some were metal detecting.

The site was really just a big hole at this point. We had missed the early part when the dirt was hauled away. There were very few features left. My partner Mike and I probed up 3 shallow wood liners in close proximity to each other. We decided to open up the one that felt like it had some glass in it. The top foot was the clay that was smeared over the site by the equipment. Under that was an ashy fill. The tops of the pits had been taken off and all that remained were the bottoms. Nothing better than being able to dig just the bottom of a privy !

The glass in this pit was sparse, and was mostly window pane, which gave way to a few clear, blown, un-embossed meds. A little deeper and we pulled out a local Cincinnati “Crown Bottling Works” hutch. Moments later, a smooth base squat Crown Soda popped out. This pit contained ash right to the bottom, and unfortunately, no more bottles.

As Mike and I moved over to the next pit, our friend Doug showed up from Columbus. He was raring to go, and after the “Howdies” were exchanged, he proceeded to work his probe like a boy works a pogo stick. In no time he had a pit probed up on the other side of the site. As Doug was test holing his pit and Mike and I were busy trying to empty out our second one, some other diggers showed up. The presence of a probe in each of their hands told me these were not just lookers or marble hunters. They sidled up to our dig and we started chatting. They were a Dad and his two boys, who were in their 20’s. Dad had been digging a long time and the boys for a year or so. We wished each other luck and they probed their way over towards the other side of the site and disappeared around a large pile of dirt.

The pit we were in had a thin but stiff clay cap, so Mike went to his truck to get his spud bar. He returned with it and told me the other diggers were in the bottom of a seedy wood liner, and had just pulled out a nice black glass JN. Ale bottle. We finished our 2nd pit with several more smooth base “Crown” squats and a few Rinninsland Selters Waters and filled it in. We were walking down to Mikes truck for a drink and to reconnoiter with Doug, and just as we were walking past the other diggers, the boy in the pit yelled “Oh HELL yeah ! He then stood up holding a pontiled, sided, cobalt root beer in his hand. He wiped it and shouted, “it’s a Goosmann”!

There was some yelling and some dancing in the mud, a couple of hugs and some elated cursing from the group. Well who could blame them ? We were incredulous and our jaws sagged in unison. It was many things at once. A tug in both directions. It was both inspiring and depressing. It was tragic that it was not us! It was epic that it was anyone! While we were still gawking, one of the boys was still digging, and in another moment he screamed and pulled out a second one . “Another Goosemann” ! He yelled.

Holy cow !!! I felt a wave of surreal ness wash over me. Was this really happening ? I could see in the two boys and the Dads eyes that they were thinking the exact same thing. A look that said, “Pinch me, Im dreaming all this”. Regardless of ours or their own disbelief, the crew kept digging. Dad reminded the boys to “slow down, slow down”. Finally the Dad got into the pit to take a turn. I could sympathize with their desire to tear into something that required a delicate touch. We were still too dumbfounded and intrigued to pull ourselves away to go find our own honey hole when the Dad said with a quavering voice, “Boys I got two more”. TWO MORE !?! Now I’m short of breath. Wait a minute. I’m a permission digger. I am not used to other diggers yanking killer bottles out of the ground less than 60 feet from where I’m digging chunks of concrete and crown tops out of my own pit. I’m not set up to handle this ! I did not prepare for this possibility ! He pulled them out and washed the black mud off of them in a small puddle near the pit. “Both C.B. Owen Root beers”, he said.

We could stand no more. We had to get away. We were inspired to a frenzied state of probing and test holing. I worked my arms past the point of marathon performance. We found a few pits and dug them with strength and stamina pulled from the dream world that we were caught in. Cobalt rootbeers kept making their way from the back of my mind to the front, where I would catch myself staring unfocussed at the dirt and mud in front of me, whereby I would shake my head, literally trying to shake the image out of my mind, and get back to the task at hand. After a couple of hours and another bunky pit emptied, we walked back down to the other diggers to find out they had found yet another root beer, this one an H. Nash. That made 5 of them.

I had to have some pictures, and they were happy to pose. Needless to say, I didn’t have to ask them to say “Cheese” in order to get a smile. They were practically crying with giddiness, and hugging and high-fiving, and then catching themselves losing control and visually settling themselves down and trying to be serious.

We went our own way again after more congratulations and wows and wayda-goes, and dug yet another 1890’s pit with a few common, mostly un-embossed bottles in it. After 10 hours of probing and digging our fatigue caught up to our amazement driven determination and we called it a night. As we walked back down to our trucks we saw another digger who we knew, who informed us the party of three had departed, but had found THREE MORE root beers, all H. Nash’s. OK that’s 8 !!! 8 large, sided, cobalt, iron pontiled Cincinnati root beers, all in the bottom few feet of a single privy, and no other bottles except one embossed black glass ale. They are all rare, and the Goosemanns are very rare, and one of the C B Owens was TEAL ! I realize I used the word “epic” before, but I’ll use it even more effectively and descriptively accurate at this point. What a totally EPIC DIG !!! And all from the bottom 2 FEET of a woodlined pit with dozer tracks over the top of it. !

For the next 8 days in a row, we dug. And dug and dug and dug, inspired by the awesome sight we had beheld. We dug a little more on the construction site, but mainly, on permissions in Newport and Covington Ky. We did manage some nice stuff. A Niehouse black glass ale, a few pontiled meds, a Saratoga type mineral water, some squats and some blob beers. Also, some good criers, (as if we hadn’t cried enough,) 2 E. Roohm’s open pontiled colored snuffs with holes in the shoulders.

I am still stoked for those diggers, and I admit I’m still bummed out it wasn’t us that found that pit. It was there, waiting for SOMEONE to find it. It all came down to “right place at the right time”.

I remember asking the Dad of the diggers, after finding the 5th root beer, if he would remember this day for the rest of his life. He stopped what he was doing and turned and looked at me with a melancholy smile and watery eyes and repeated,” I will remember this day for the rest of my life“.

In the end, I’m glad I was there to see it. It inspires me and educates me and will make me a more productive digger. I was able to witness a rare event. One that is on par with great discoveries I have read about and enjoyed and drew inspiration from all of my life. I am glad to know it was a Dad and his boys, a family, coming together to make a memory that will burn brightly for as long as they live, to share again and again in graphic detail, and to pass down, maybe along with the root beers themselves, to the younger generations, who will request “The Root Beer Story” be told yet again, and certainly no less often than the proud narrator desires to tell it.

Eddie Brater lll
2006

The fat lady has yet to sing !!!