I have always heard funny stories from my Mom, Dad, Uncles and Aunts regarding life in the Philippines circa 1945-1955. This was always one of my favorites.

After World War II large American and English companies, like International Harvester, Texaco and Smith Bell, started moving into the Philippines for commercial gain. The tiny little seaside villages had no shipping ports, or airports to speak of so the companies contracted with the locals to build gigantic scaffolding, called ‘Pantalans’ in the local vernacular, out of local materials (Bamboo, Rattan and Buri). These were solid Bamboo structures used to load, and unload, cargo from ships. The locals were well versed in the use of these materials since all their homes were made in the same fashion. They were simple folk who lived without everyday amenities we take for granted like running water, indoor plumbing, toilet paper, or electricity.

Everything went well for the first few months after the structure’s completion, but after a short time the scaffolding inexplicably collapsed into the sea. The large companies re-contracted with the locals to rebuild new scaffolding quickly until the scaffolding’s concrete counterparts were finished. Oddly enough, even the new scaffolding ended up falling apart after a few months, and so began the vicious cycle of rebuilding and falling apart. None of the well schooled engineers, with scads of degrees, could figure out what was causing these usually sturdy structures to collapse.

It finally came to light that families living in the local area would meander down to the beach after dinner and climb the scaffolding and, with pants down around their ankles, would perch on the different levels of bamboo beams, hang their rear ends off the side to do their “business”. Stories and conversations were shared in the smoky darkness as the glowing red tips of the grownups’ cigarettes flitted about like fireflies. Sometimes people would even bring guitars and sing and enjoy each other’s company, all while relieving themselves. After they were done, people would twist off pieces of the Buri or Rattan lashing and use it to clean their posteriors (don’t ask me how). Month after month of this “Community Togetherness” depleted the necessary lashings a few inches at a time until the weakened structure would eventually succumb to the laws of Physics and Gravity and plunge into the sea.

Eventually, the concrete piers and docks were completed, the last of the great Bamboo structures fell one last time and the evening escapades of the locals came to an end. All that is left of the Pantalans are these hilarious stories passed down to me over the generations. To this day my Uncle still cannot recount this story without breaking out into laughter due to its absurdity.

I’m all for family bonding, and even neighborhood unity, but I would have to draw the line well before community crapping.