The Delectable Fig-Fag

The term "faggot" was not used as a pejorative term for a gay person until 1914, and the shortened form "fag" was not used until 1921, according to this online etymology dictionary.

This ad is from the March 11, 1897 Ypsilantian. Therefore DD presumes that the word "fag" used here refers to the older meaning of "bundle of sticks." I'm guessing that this product came as a roll of crushed figs wrapped in paper. Ten cents please.

"The new Fruit Food" does not have a manufacturer's name appended to its description. DD finds this interesting. DD speculates whether Kief and Meanwell's got a great deal on ten crates of bruised figs in Detroit, toted it home, and set up a washtub and a potato masher in back of the store. Sprinkle in a little corn starch, roll out a glob on the table, wrap it in paper, et voila! The world will beat a path to Kief and Meanwell's door for "Fig-Fag"!

Sadly, "Fig-Fag" never caught on. Perhaps the closest we'll ever get to experiencing it is the mush inside Fig Newtons. This March 11 ad for "Fig-Fag" appears to be the only such "Fig-Fag" ad that ever appeared in the paper. It is absent from succeeding editions of the Ypsilantian.

Kief and Meanwell may have meant well, but one wonders if their assessment of what constitutes desirable edibles might have been a bit off. Kind readers may recall that this grocer's was the enterprise that previously brought us the dainty known, briefly, as "Breakfast Fish Balls."

19th-Century Breakfast Fish Balls

As I observed my husband studying on his laptop for an upcoming business trip, I sensed that what he really wanted at that moment was a conversation about 19th-century fish balls.

DD: "Check this out. How would you like fish balls for breakfast?"
DH: "How would I...what?"
DD: "Delectable codfish balls first thing in the morning."
DH: [reads ad] "OK, I don't get it. It says they're, like, flakes in a box. How do you make the balls?"
DD: "I guess you have to moisten them a little...add an egg...smoosh 'em up..."
DH: "And then do you...what?"
DD: "I guess you could boil them, like a soup. Wait, it says 'no boiling.'"
DH: "And then do I...squish them on my toast? Eww."
DD: "Fish balls and toast! That sounds good! Can you imagine messing around with all that first thing in the morning?"
DH: "Maybe it's like that Scandinavian thing that whats-his-name always talks about..."
DD: "Lutefisk. Cod jelly...but there's weren't a lot of Scandinavian immigrants in this part of Michigan. They were all up north. We did have a lot of New Englanders, and German and English immigrants..."
DH: "Well, I guess the English have their herring in a pan, or whatever that is."
DD: "Kippers? See, they have that here: 'smoked herring'."
DH: [reads] "All refuse is removed...nummy..."
DD: "No refuse! Goes with your fish balls! Maybe they fry 'em, like fritters..fish fritters! It's like those 'catfish nuggets' at Von's. I can make some tomorrow!"
DH: "Umm....."

--ad from October 20, 1896 Ypsilanti Commercial

Inodorous Earth Closets

Readers, have you ever found yourself at odd moments "Gee...I wonder what the history of the University of Michigan's onetime failed promotion of inodorous earth closets was all about..."

Well, do I have a weird yet true story for you. Thanks to my editor D. for the very nice intro! :D

The Effluent Chronicles: 1920

Try to wrap your mind around this: in 1920, the municipal sewer system drained directly into the Huron River.

No water treatment plant. No filter. No sterilization, purification, or de-ickyfication.

Swim, anyone?

In October of 1920, the water level dropped and the effluent was piling up in the Huron. The aroma wafted over area homes. Delightful when you're sitting down to your home-cooked meal or snuggling into bed. In 1920, the population of Ypsilanti was around 7,500. So that's 7,500 "donations" to the problem every day--more if on a high-fiber diet.

Luckily winter was right around the corner.

Stay tuned for more entries into the Effluent Chronicles.

The Mystery of the Bell Street Bones

A mysterious tale about a still-unsolved Ypsilanti mystery from the Depression era.

"With Halloween on the horizon, local author Laura Bien spins a tale of a skeleton–four, actually–in Ypsilanti’s past."

EDIT: Remembering readers' chorus of cries for more stories touching the topic of "effluent," I have added that tag to this tale. ALSO: another effluent-related story is imminent; stay tuned!

Plumbing History

Sometimes history is written in unexpected scripts...like the loops and curls of ancient plumbing pipe underneath our poorly-draining kitchen sink. Husband bravely explored crawl space and found a weird situation.

In this drawing, the kitchen is the little add-on room at the top. #2 is the washing machine, #3 is the kitchen sink. #10 is some twirly flexible pipe added from the tankless water heater above the washer to the kitchen sink. At any rate, the kitchen sink and washer are draining into a big pipe that heads east out of the east end of the kitchen.

This big pipe appears to have once been connected to the toilet (#5) and tub (#7) drains. Now, the big pipe is severed. A newer pipe, (#6), takes the bathroom drainage out the front, or western side, of the house towards the street, in which there are manholes that YCUA occasionally accesses.

Our 1948 one-street subdivision, optimistically named "Audubon Gardens," consists of mostly tiny 780-square-foot homes. Was there an original sewer line to the east? Was this cheaply or inefficiently done? Was a later better one built under the street? Why was only part of the home drainage left connected to the eastward one? Where is that eastward effluent going?

Our effort to solve the mystery of the slow kitchen drain has raised more questions about the house's history than it answered.