Uncle John’s Curiously Compelling Bathroom Reader

by Bathroom Readers' Institute

  But the papas that the Incas cultivated looked more like purple golf balls than today’s potatoes. More than 5,000 different varieties grew in the Andes, and there were more than 1,000 Incan words to describe them. The potato was so integral to Incan culture that they buried their dead with potatoes (for food in the afterlife) and measured time based on how long it took a potato to cook.

  THE EDIBLE STONE

  When the Spanish conquistadors invaded the New World in the 1500s, they resisted this strange new food at first, not wanting to lower themselves to eating anything so “primitive.” But when their own food stores ran low, the Spaniards were forced to eat potatoes. They liked them so much that they brought some tubers back to Europe in 1565.

  Europeans balked at what they called the “edible stone.” It was dirty, had poisonous leaves, and tasted horrible when eaten raw (which led to indigestion). The Catholic Church condemned potatoes as “unholy” because there was no mention of them in the Bible. Farmers started growing them, but only to feed livestock. It’s amazing that potatoes ever caught on, but thanks to a few key events, that’s exactly what happened.

  World’s largest toy distributor: McDonald’s.

  KING’S EDICT: JUST EAT IT

  The potato’s first big boost in Europe came from Frederick the Great, ruler of Prussia. In the 1740s, Prussia was mired in a war against Austria. Faced with the prospect of his nation’s crops (and food supply) being trampled by invading armies, Frederick urged his farmers to grow potatoes. Why? Because potatoes grow underground. A potato field could be marched over or even burned, and survive, where wheat and barley fields would be devastated.

  But the Prussian people didn’t understand why the king wanted them to eat animal fodder, and most refused. So Frederick sent his personal chefs out to travel the countryside and distribute potato recipes to his subjects. When that didn’t work, he issued an edict that anyone who refused to eat potatoes would have their ears cut off. Potatoes caught on relatively quickly in Prussia after that.

  PRISON FOOD

  But they didn’t in France. Along with most other French people, King Louis XVI reviled the potato. “It has a pasty taste,” wrote an 18th-century French historian. “The natural insipidity, the unhealthy quality of this food, which is flatulent and indigestible, has caused it to be rejected from refined households.”

  During the Seven Years War (1756–1763), a French pharmacist named Antoine Parmentier was imprisoned in Germany, where he was fed the same food as the pigs: potatoes. But when he was released, he felt stronger and healthier than before his imprisonment. He credited his health to the potato and became its biggest advocate. Granted an audience with the king, Parmentier told his prison story and urged him to fund a series of potato farms to feed the hungry. Louis was intrigued, but not enough to carry out Parmentier’s grand scheme. Instead, he donated a few acres of the worst possible land near Paris. Historically, nothing would grow there—nothing, that is, until Parmentier grew potatoes. They thrived.

  But how would Parmentier convince his fellow citizens to eat them? Knowing that people usually want what they can’t have, Parmentier devised a plan. First, he positioned soldiers around his field in order to “protect” the valuable crop from theft. Second, he instructed the soldiers to take bribes and allow peasants to sneak in at night to steal the spuds. The plan worked, and within a few decades, potato farms became as common as wineries in France.

  The Choctaw Nation donated $710 to the Irish during the Potato Famine.

  In 1767 Benjamin Franklin traveled to Paris, where he attended a banquet hosted by Parmentier consisting of nothing but potato dishes. Franklin was instantly won over by their taste and versatility and took some seedlings home to the Colonies, where he gave them to his friend, Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson, too, was enthusiastic about the vegetable and urged every farmer he knew to grow it. Yet even with the statesman’s endorsement, the potato didn’t catch on quickly in the Colonies. The Old World cultural and religious stigmas against it were still too strong.

  THE BLIGHT

  It was a different story in Ireland. The potato, first brought there around 1590, quickly became one of the country’s main crops. The Irish climate and soil—in many areas too poor to grow grain—were perfect for growing potatoes. In addition, potatoes could go straight from the earth to the kitchen without having to be refined at a mill, which made the crop very appealing to the poor. The potato is actually credited with saving Ireland from famine…but no one knew how devastating Ireland’s reliance on it would become.

  For all of its attributes, the potato has one major drawback: it is susceptible to potato blight. Caused by a funguslike organism called Phytophthora infestans, which travels in airborne spores, an outbreak can destroy every potato plant for hundreds of miles. Even today, scientists have not found a cure.

  In 1845 Ireland was hit hard with blight, and the country’s entire potato crop failed. As food stores dwindled, Ireland begged neighboring England, which ruled them at the time, for help. But the British did nothing. When the blight hit again the following year, the British sent soldiers and farmers to help out, but by then there was little anyone could do—tens of thousands of acres of potato fields were dead or dying. When the crops failed yet again in 1847, families that relied on their potato crops to pay rent were evicted from their land, causing a mass exodus from Ireland. Result: About a million people died, and millions more fled to Europe and the Americas (including the families of John F. Kennedy and Henry Ford).

  Before the Potato Famine, Ireland was on its way to becoming a major political force in the West: High-yielding potato crops were boosting the country’s economy, and its eight million citizens were close to gaining independence from England. Within three years, however, the population was cut almost in half and the land was scarred from repeated attacks of blight. Many Irish held their English rulers responsible, claiming that they waited too long before helping. The Irish Potato Famine only intensified the bad blood between the two nations that continues to this day.

  Where did Harry Lillis Crosby get the nickname Bing? From the comic strip The Bingsville Bugle.

  THE BIRTH OF THE MODERN POTATO

  The potato blight hit North America as well, but because the United States also grew corn, oats, wheat, and barley, Americans were able to compensate for it. Besides, even with Franklin’s and Jefferson’s endorsements 50 years earlier, the potato was still primarily used as livestock feed.

  The potato did have its advocates in America, though—none more important than horticulturist Luther Burbank. Burbank spent 55 years developing more than 800 new varieties of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and grains. His goal was, simply, to feed the world. Burbank’s greatest achievement came in 1871 when he developed a hybrid potato—the Burbank—that produced twice as many tubers per crop and was much larger than any potatoes that had existed before. Most importantly, this new potato showed more resistance to blight than previous varieties. Burbank sent some tubers to Ireland to help rebuild the potato crop, which, even 20 years later, was still suffering the effects of the famine.

  Thanks to Burbank’s advances, the potato started to catch on in North America. Once it did, it didn’t take long for chefs to learn how versatile the vegetable is. Potatoes can be boiled, baked, or fried; they can be mashed, sliced, or powdered; they can be used to make sauces thicker and stop ice crystals from forming; and they can be used to make pasta and baked goods. After hundreds of years of distrust and suspicion, by the beginning of the 20th century, the potato had become one of America’s staple crops.

  THIS SPUD’S FOR YOU

  In the 1920s, Idaho was emerging as “The Potato State.” Why Idaho? Because of its altitude, the days are warm and the nights are cool, creating the perfect growing climate. There is also plenty of irrigation water to soak tubers submerged in the porous volcanic soil. And because few people lived in Idaho at the time, millions of acres of land were available for potato farms.

  The French name
for potato: pomme de terre, or “earth apple.”

  The most successful of the farmers was J. R. Simplot. He started working on a potato farm in Declo, Idaho, when he was just 14. With a keen mind for business and understanding of distribution, Simplot became the potato baron of Idaho and the main supplier of potatoes to the western United States, as well as to the U.S. Armed Forces in the 1930s and ’40s. (Simplot now has annual revenues of $3 billion—he is McDonald’s #1 potato supplier.)

  Through the Great Depression and into World War II, potatoes thrived as an inexpensive, easy-to-grow crop that could easily feed the masses—and the troops. This was crucial during wartime. Most crops only grow in specific climates or terrains, which means that they have to be cultivated in one place and delivered to another. Ships carrying fresh produce overseas were always in danger of being sunk by the enemy. Potatoes, on the other hand, could be grown almost anywhere. In Europe and the Americas, thousands of farmers grew nothing else during those years. By the end of World War II, the all-American meal was simply “meat and potatoes.”

  The vegetable that was first revered by the Incas, then used as pig feed in the Western world, is now a $100 billion-a-year business.

  POTATO FACTS

  • Potatoes produce 75% more food energy per acre than wheat and 58% more than rice.

  • Potatoes can also be used to make ethyl alcohol (ethanol). “There’s enough alcohol in one year’s yield of an acre of potatoes,” said Henry Ford, “to drive the machinery necessary to cultivate the fields for one hundred years.” Potatoes are used in manufacturing medicines, paper, cloth, glue, and candy.

  • It’s the only vegetable that can be grown in desert regions and in mountains above 14,000 feet.

  • The average American eats about 80 pounds of potatoes a year, but that has health advocates worried. Why? Because they’re usually deep fried or buried under butter and cheese. The skin of the potato—which contains half its fiber—is usually discarded.

  • In 1995 potatoes became the first vegetables grown in space. In the future, NASA plans on using spuds as the main crop to feed space travelers on long voyages.

  What do the hummingbird, the loon, and the kingfisher have in common? They can’t walk.

  SHAKE THE TREES AND RAKE THE LEAVES

  Some of the most colorful CB expressions of the 1970s came from the cat-and-mouse game played by truckers who hated the 55 mph speed limit, and the cops, who tried to catch them speeding.

  Convoy: a group of trucks traveling together for safety (from state troopers), often exceeding the speed limit.

  Front door: the lead truck in a convoy. Its job is to “shake the trees”—spot any state troopers up ahead and warn the other trucks in the convoy to slow down.

  Back door: The last truck in a convoy “rakes the leaves”—keeps an eye out for troopers sneaking up from behind.

  Rocking chair/easy chair: a truck in the middle of the convoy. (They can relax, since they’re not shaking the trees or raking the leaves.)

  Hitting the jackpot: getting pulled over for speeding. (The flashing lights on a patrol car look like a slot machine.)

  Feeding the bears: After hitting the jackpot, a trucker has to pull over to the side of the highway to feed the bears, i.e., receive a speeding ticket.

  Brush your teeth and comb your hair: Slow down to 55 mph—a state trooper with a radar gun is “taking pictures” up ahead.

  Plain brown wrapper: an unmarked patrol car.

  Tijuana taxi: a marked police car.

  Bear in the air: state trooper in a helicopter or airplane.

  Someone spilled honey on the road: The bears are everywhere!

  All clean: No bears in sight.

  Bear in the bushes: a state trooper hidden from view.

  Christmas card: speeding ticket.

  One foot on the floor, one hanging out the door, and she won’t do no more: driving as fast as you can.

  In the pokey with Smokey: in jail.

  Dumb prediction: In 1983 Billboard magazine declared Madonna a “flash in the pan.”

  BILLY MITCHELL’S BATTLE, PART III

  Here’s the final installment of our story about the man who may have done more than any other individual to prepare the United States for World War II. (Parts I and II are on pages 185 and 399.)

  PAYING ATTENTION

  Brigadier General Billy Mitchell had proven his point four different times with four different ships: Battleships that were once the unrivaled, unsinkable masters of the sea could now be defeated by aerial bombing. The lesson was not lost on the foreign observers aboard the USS Henderson who came to watch the experiment. One of them, a Japanese naval attaché named Captain Osami Nagano, took careful notes during the tests while two companions snapped away with cameras. “There is much to learn here,” one of his companions explained to a reporter for the Hartford Courant.

  Nagano eventually rose to the rank of admiral…and helped plan the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941.

  LET’S PRETEND IT NEVER HAPPENED

  The foreign observers understood what they had witnessed, and so did many of the American officers who were present. So, too, would the public, when newsreel footage of the sinking ships began appearing in movie theaters across the country.

  Everyone got the message except for the people who mattered most—the military brass. A joint Army-Navy board studied the tests and decided that the results were “inconclusive.” So a second test, this time using two decommissioned Navy warships as targets, took place in September 1923. Mitchell’s pilots sank them both; unbelievably, the military again dismissed the results.

  The media certainly didn’t ignore them: Mitchell, or the “flying general,” as he’d become known, was a popular public figure even before the tests. Coverage of his efforts to repair a serious and obvious defect in America’s national defense turned him into a hero. As his public profile grew, however, so did the number of his enemies inside the military. And Mitchell was anything but a diplomat—he pushed his ideas so forcefully and was so contemptuous of people who disagreed with him that he alienated a lot of colleagues who might otherwise have been his allies.

  Since the 1700s, the average yield of a dairy cow has increased by 4 gallons a day.

  TAKE A HIKE

  In late 1923, the Army sent Mitchell on an eight-month inspection tour of U.S. military installations in the Pacific to get him out of the headlines. Mitchell paid particular attention to the facilities in Hawaii, and when he returned home he wrote a 324-page report that included a prediction that the Japanese would one day attack Pearl Harbor. In his report Mitchell correctly predicted the day of the attack (Sunday), and estimated it would begin at 7:30 in the morning (the first bombs actually fell at 7:53 a.m.). He also correctly predicted where the Japanese aircraft carriers would be positioned, and warned that U.S. forces in Hawaii were unprepared to defend against such an assault.

  Not many people bothered to read Mitchell’s report; those few who did ignored it. “Many of the opinions expressed are based on the author’s exaggerated ideas of the powers and importance of air power, and are therefore unsound,” an officer assigned to the Army General Staff wrote in response.

  INTO THE WILDERNESS

  Mitchell had been the deputy director of the Army’s Air Service since 1919, and as such he had been able to retain his “temporary” wartime rank of brigadier general. But he’d made so many enemies pushing for air power that when his term as deputy director expired in 1925, it was not renewed. He reverted back to his lower, permanent rank of colonel and in June 1925 was transferred to Fort Sam Houston in Texas to keep him out of the newspapers. He was still there three months later when two naval air disasters put him right back in the headlines.

  In early September 1925, a Navy seaplane, called a flying boat, crashed into the Pacific after attempting to fly nonstop from San Francisco to Hawaii. A few days later, the dirigible USS Shenandoah, pride of the U.S. Navy, crashed after it flew into a thunderstorm, killin
g 14 crewmembers. Both trips had been ill-advised: the flying boat did not have the necessary range to fly to Hawaii without refueling and had crashed 200 miles short of its destination. The Shenandoah was in the middle of a 27-city publicity tour when its captain, under pressure to stick to a tight schedule and against his better judgment, flew into bad weather. (Ironically, both trips were attempts by the Navy to prevent its air program from being overshadowed by the Army Air Service.) Secretary of the Navy Curtis Wilbur summed up the tragedies by saying that they demonstrated the limits of air power: If an enemy tried to mount an air attack from across the Atlantic or the Pacific, they were sure to crash before they got to North America.

  Studies show: There are 7,500,000,000,000,000,000 grains of sand on the world’s beaches.

  WAR OF WORDS

  Mitchell had put up with a lot over the years, but the two accidents and the Navy’s response to them were too much. “My opinion is as follows,” he said in a public statement, “These terrible accidents are the direct result of incompetency, criminal negligence, and almost treasonable administration of the national defense by the War and Navy Departments. As a patriotic American citizen, I can stand by no longer and see these disgusting performances by the Navy and War Departments.”

  Mitchell’s enemies had been waiting for a chance to strike back at him, and this statement handed it to them. The military, probably at the instigation of President Calvin Coolidge, decided to court-martial Mitchell on grounds of insubordination and making public statements that were prejudicial to good order and discipline.