Treasure from the Black Muck
of a
Philadelphia Bricklined Privy
by Andrew Goldfrank

A few years ago my bottle digging buddies from Colorado and New York joined forces for the first time for a week of privy digging in some East Coast city. Since then, this crew has pounded through concrete and rubble in Baltimore, New York, and Philadelphia in search of those elusive pontil-laden pits. The results have been mixed with no spectacular finds, but the Colorado boys (Mike Sandion and Marty Homola) always manage to take home a couple of bottles not often found out West, which keeps them coming back for more. In turn, Scott Jordan from New York City and I enjoy exploring new places to dig and the company of the Colorado boys.
This past March, after one last big snow, the Colorado contingent arrived at National Airport in Washington, D.C. just prior to the Baltimore, Maryland bottle show for our annual roadtrip. The guys from New York, Scott plus new privy trekkers Dave Cutler and Winston Kreiger, would come down for the bottle show and then we would all head to Philadelphia for a week of moving dirt. Marty and I organized the trip well in advance and discussed equipment issues we had experienced on prior trips. Marty solved one problem by welding together a flexible but sturdy tripod head that connects to detachable legs for easy storage and takes less than 5 minutes to set up. Imagine my joy (and my wife’s quizzical looks) when UPS delivered the tripod, it was like Christmas all over again! On my end, I obtained a serious chain ladder, some headlamps, extra shovels and plenty of compound buckets.

The author, covered in black muck from the depths of the bricklined privy, holding a tub of bottles recovered during the day’s efforts.

After the Colorado boys arrived, we prepped further by purchasing and machining the legs for the tripod, building a couple of sifters, and talking bottles. Their desire for a good pit was heightened by the colored squat sodas and slip-glazed redware that grace many a shelf and window ledge in my home, along with my talk of the monster privy I dug over the winter in Philadelphia. I assured them that there would be plenty of privies waiting for us in Philadelphia as I had lined up a few on previous scouting trips. The entire next day was spent at the Baltimore bottle show where we admired the treasures of over 300 dealers. We made a mental note of all of the bottles we hoped to find over the next week. Late in the afternoon, we caravaned our way to Philly and checked into our motel a little after dark.

A crude keeper for the Colorado boys: an iron pontiled Jacob Haeberle squat soda.

After a quick bite, I headed out to examine the sites secured on my prior scouting trips. To my distress, it turned out that a number of the pits I located previously were hit by local diggers (without permission) or destroyed by construction. (In fact, I later learned from the owner of one site on Market Street that he had the diggers escorted off by the police.) Later that evening and early the next morning, we hustled through the streets of Philly looking for new places to dig and by late afternoon we obtained permission at a row house just north of Callowhill Street.

The cast iron barbells after cleaning and restoration.

The row house predated 1850 as indicated by the thin mortar joints between smooth facing brick, a shallow slant roof, and crisp federal-style trim. It stood three stories high over a full basement and was part of a row of homes speculatively built for resale to the burgeoning middle class of Philadelphia in the first half of the nineteenth century. The extension on the structure went to about 15 feet from the rear lot line. Most of the yard was concrete except for the last few feet. We quickly went to work locating the pit and found that it was a brickliner shared with the adjacent owner which sat midway across the lot line. This shared system was common in Philadelphia and Baltimore, as it was more economical for builders to dig one deep privy for two houses instead of two separate pits. We managed to secure permission from the contractor next door only to discover that the pit was capped with a massive slab of stone approximately six feet across, two feet wide, and a foot thick. (According to Scott, this was our figurative ‘monster’ over the pit that we needed to overcome to get bottles out of the ground.) A half hour or so was wasted pounding on the slab to no avail. At that point, Marty and I went off to knock on the neighbors’ doors because we knew it would be impossible to dig the honey hole we had uncovered. Over the next 20 minutes, as we rapped knuckles on a bunch of doors, in the background we could hear the pick and sledge bouncing off of the slab. We then noticed that the noise stopped and we figured the guys had finally given up. When we made our way back, we discovered that they had in fact decided to abandon the hole; however, when Mike went to step out of the pit he placed his foot on the stone and it broke in half! Just like that our frustrations dissipated and we were setting up our shiny new tripod.

Dave Cutler and Andy man the tripod as Mike Sandion hauls buckets to the surface.

We spent the next few hours pulling buckets of fill from the hole. In comparison to other pits, this one was an average-size brickliner with a width of about four and a half feet across. We were somewhat distressed because the fill was comprised of coal cinders appearing to date from after the turn of the century; this date was supported by the fact that the few bottles unearthed were milks and machine made beers. Quitting time came before we could make it through the fill thanks to our late start and the incessant cold (did I mention the 8 inches of snow that was on the ground?). When we broke for the night we were seven feet down. Upon our return early the next morning, we found our hole filled with water. Consequently, we spent the next hour bucketing water before we could get back to extracting the cinders. We pulled out another five feet of fill before we saw a change; we then started to extract a red clay layer which was apparently the cap. After a couple of feet, we broke through into a lime layer directly atop classic Philadelphia nightsoil.

Relics from the black muck start to pile up with the Haller fruit jar lids visible on the stone slab next to a glove and a couple of squats.

Now this Philadelphia nightsoil is not your ordinary privy dirt as it is black, soupy, thick, smelly, and, most importantly, laden with artifacts. Mike Cerbone, my original digging mentor back in the 1980s, always regaled me with stories about the smell from a Philly pit as that ‘pontil odor’, an effervescent scent from the seeping of methane and other gases stemming from cold-boiled 140-year-old organic droppings, which is every privy digger’s dream smell because it means you are into the pontils. Mike used to joke that he could hold a choice soda or pontiled medicine, close his eyes, and let his mind re-create that pontil smell. I explained all of this to the digging crew and said it was time for some serious digging. Water kept creeping into the hole and the muck was as wet as I had ever experienced but, of course, into the brickliner I went. During the next few hours, we proceeded to pull out a nice collection of bottles, although it was no easy task.

Part of the haul from the privy including sodas, potlids, medicines, mustard pots, and the Haller lids back in the motel room.

The privy appeared to have been dipped a couple of times because the next few feet contained a mix of 1850s to mid 1880s items. We determined the latest date from a Cunningham & Co. transitional soda embossed 1000 SPRING GARDEN ST. / “1884” on the base along with a couple of stylized pharmacy bottles ("SUPPLEE’S / PHARMACY / GREEN & 13TH STS. / PHILADA"; "W.B.WEBB / PHILADELPHIA"). The bottles were hard to find in the midst of the muck and at one point I just started scooping the slop by hand into the buckets without looking for bottles, we would do the sorting on the surface.Slowly but surely, in the midst of bulk bottles, there were some nicer recoveries, including colored squat sodas, pontiled aqua medicines and glazed pottery containers. Once I determined that only a few feet remained, I started digging down to the bottom on one half of the hole and created a shelf to extract later. At this point, I found a large cast iron bar bell; it was not until an hour later when finishing the second half of the hole that its mate showed up. The broken shards of glass and pottery were plentiful indicating that lots of trash was thrown into this pit. As the black muck splashed down on me as the buckets were hoisted out of the hole, I remained hopeful that in addition to the bottles I recovered below the boys on the surface were finding even more. At long last, I cleaned out the entire privy and climbed the chain ladder to the surface 25 feet above me.

Scott Jordan guiding another bucket of smelly black muck out of the privy.	A nice open pontil Storr’s Chemical Hair Invigorator which now resides in a Colorado collection.

To my surprise, I was greeted at the top of the hole with laughter because from head to toe I was covered in black with only my eyes poking out. Also, I was delighted to discover that quite a few bottles and other artifacts were recovered from the buckets of mud. All told, there were about 75 decent bottles, a small pile of potlids, the barbells and some caked metal artifacts to sort through dating from the 1840s to the 1880s. The best colored pontiled sodas were a Jacob Haberele and a Ph. J. Tholey, along with the usual Roussells and Twitchells. Amongst the medicines and cosmetics there was a black glass snap-pontil X. Bazin, a heavily embossed Mutter’s Cough Syrup produced by Frederick Brown of Essence of Jamaica Ginger fame, and a crude open pontiled Storr’s Chemical Hair Invigorator (See Holst, Pontiled Medicine Price Guide, S 172; Odell, Pontil Medicine Encyclopedia 227). Mixed in was the usual assortment of other pontils: Trask’s Magnetic Ointment, R.R.R. Radway & Co., Spalding’s Glue, puffs, umbrella inks, unembossed medicines, and utilities. The intact pottery was highlighted by two crude purple-glazed barrel mustards and an early 1830s interior brown-glazed 2 gallon redware crock. The cryer of the dig was an iron pontiled Wishart’s Pine Tree Cordial in olive-green. There were also some neat smooth based bottles such as perfumes, florida waters, mucilages, inks, flasks and a "J.V. Sharp / Williamstown, N.J." from a company founded in 1865 that offered tomato based products in a bottle intended to be sealed with a waxed cork. (See Leybourne, Red Book 2619-2; Zumwalt, Ketchup Pickles Sauces 372).

This H & S fruit jar was finally reunited with our privy recovered original Haller lid and was available on Greg Spurgeon’s website for short period of time. See http://www.hoosierjar.com/soldjars	A.R. Samuel advertisement from Edwin T. Freedley's Philadelphia and Its Manufactures published in 1867. The Haller Lid which we recovered is depicted at the top right of the ad.

As my eyes scanned the piles of odds and ends, I noticed a couple of rusted metal objects. Picking one up, I turned to the guys and said “Who knows what this is?” Someone said, “We just wanted to show you that stuff but planned on tossing it back into the hole.” I responded, “Not sure that I would do that since this may well pay for our entire trip ... this looks like an early mechanical fruit jar lid.” Scott told me that when he found the first one while sorting through the black muck he initially thought it was a blackened sugar pot lid made of pewter but, upon recovering the second one, also thought that these crusty objects were mechanical fruit jar lids. At that point, however, no one bought into my idea that the lids were of any value. A few hours later, when we returned to the hotel room, Marty closely examined the encrusted metal objects. He likewise thought they were mechanical fruit jar lids and concurred that there was the possibility that these could bring some money to defray the cost of digging trips. We agreed that Marty would take the lids back to Colorado, clean them up a bit and test our theory by listing one of the lids on eBay. All in all we decided we had dug a decent pit with a colored soda or unusual pontiled bottle for every one participating.
The next day the Colorado boys headed south toward Virginia; Scott, Winston, and I elected to scope out another pit. Eventually, we found a privy that, while unusual since it was carved into the bedrock, turned out to be dipped of almost all its nightsoil. There were a few interesting artifacts but nothing worth mentioning other than a green-glazed pottery whistle. We all speculated that a parent took the whistle from their child and tossed it into the privy to stop hearing the unbearable high-pitched noise it created. Also, at that location we managed to line up three more houses for future digs from interested neighbors.
Less than two weeks later, Marty put one of the lids on eBay at $9.99 and noted that it came from a Philadelphia privy. Within a matter of hours, the lid had over 80 hits and the price shot to over $100. Cleaned up, we discovered that the lid was a cast iron 3-part closure with a tin liner below the cast iron dome cap; in addition, the original white rubber gasket was intact. The next day Jim Sears (who is a knowledgeable and ardent Mason’s 1858 fruit jar collector as evidenced by his ad in the back of the Red Book) informed me that the lid was a good one.

William Haller Patd Aug 7 1860 mechanical cast iron stopper for fruit jar (left) and inside view of the same (right).

Specifically, our recovery was a stopple or stopper patented by William L. Haller of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, which was used primarily on “H & S” jars. (See also Leybourne, Red Book 1182 to 1187). Willam Haller is also famous for the AThe Ladies Favorite” jars. “H & S” stands for William Haller and Adam R. Samuel; these jars were manufactured at Samuel's Keystone Glass Works located at the southeast corner of Howard and Oxford Streets in Philadelphia. Dick Roller's Standard Fruit Jar Reference, which relied heavily on city directories for his information and lists The Manufactories and Manufacturers of Pennsylvania in the 19th Century (1875) as a source, wrote about Haller and Samuel. Apparently, Adam R. Samuel was born in Wales in 1819, and his family immigrated to the United States when he was 13. Around 1834, Samuel began an apprenticeship at the Dyottville Glass Works in Philadelphia. Fifteen years later, in 1859, Samuel started making fruit jars in one furnace of the Kensington Glass Works. His partnership with William L. Haller was first noted in the Philadelphia City Directory for 1862. That same year, Samuel began building the Keystone Glass Works and it began operations on February 22, 1863, with a workforce of 50 men. Roller suggests that Keystone was probably the earliest glasshouse devoted strictly to the manufacture of fruit jars. After A.R. Samuel died in 1873, his two sons formed a partnership and continued to make jars for several years.

This 1860s letterhead from the Keystone Glass Works owned by A.R. Samuel prominently displays fruit jars.

Cast iron jar lids, such as the Haller lid, were primarily used during the 1860s. According to Jim Sears, the closure we dug is the same as one shown in an A.R. Samuel advertisement from Edwin T. Freedley's Philadelphia and Its Manufactures with the label "Haller's Patent 1860." Other jars drawn in this same advertisement are the Mason's, Franklin, Kline Patent 1863, and the Willoughby Patent 1859. Freedley’s book addresses these depicted jars by stating that Samuel "has the control of five of the most popular patents, and a furnace that is capable of turning out from seven to ten thousand gross of jars per annum." Home canning was still a new concept during this period, and inventors were competing to patent marketable closures. However, iron closures tended to rust and affect the flavor of the food being preserved, and by 1870 glass and glass-lined closures dominated the market. Although Haller's closures were never a great commercial success, he did go on to patent a form of glass jar stopper on January 4, 1870. It also appears that fruit jar patents ran in the family as Mrs. Ella G. Haller of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, obtained a number of patents for fruit jars and closures in 1873. (See Leybourne, Red Book 1178, 2494 to 2497).
Due to Marty’s cleaning efforts and the excellent state of preservation from being in the Philadelphia muck, one could read the incised writing that said “William Haller Patd Aug 7 1860” on the stopper below the wingnut. I immediately pulled out my Red Book and was shocked to discover that these lids are valued in excess of $500. I had no doubt, however, that because of the less than perfect condition of our lids, we would not get close to that figure. The evening the auction was to expire, I was showing my brother-in-law Gary our discovery from Philadelphia with about 5 minutes left in the bidding. My initial concern that my pit-side prediction (about paying for the digging trip) would not come to fruition was erased as the close of bidding approached; the stopper appeared to nestle in at around $300 after a few days of competitive bidding which seemed fair for a privy find and for a mechanical lid that was not in workable condition. It did appear the lid was the object of much attention in the fruit jar world because the bottom of the computer screen indicated the auction had been viewed by over 500 different people. In addition, Marty answered a ton of emails about the lid and we concluded that at least a few dollars would go into the kitty to cover next year’s digging trip expenses. With about 30 seconds left on the auction, Gary and I were called to dinner but decided to see if the lid would jump a bit more. Gary hit refresh one last time and to our delight, the Haller lid’s price cruised past $1000 and closed with a bang!
In the next few weeks, Marty unloaded the other two lids for comparable sums. Future all-expenses paid digs are on the horizon. In the end, the Colorado boys, the New York contingent, and I all got the opportunity to recover some interesting bottles for our shelves and also managed to cover our expenses for a future expedition. We definitely learned that when digging, if ever in doubt as to an artifact’s value, never throw it back in the privy. That piece of rust may well pay for the next digging trip and what more could a privy digger ask for other than the smelly black muck of a pontil-laden hole, of course.

References
Edwin T. Freedley, Philadelphia and Its Manufactures (2nd Ed. 1867), available at the Digital Book Index (http://www.digitalbookindex.com/_search/search010hstusmanufacturinga.asp).

David Hinson, "A Primer on Fruit Jars," Bottles & Extras (Dec. 1996).
Jim Holst, “Pontiled Medicine Price Guide” (1996).

Douglas M. Leybourne, Jr., “The Collectors Guide to Old Fruit Jars: Redbook 9” (2001).

John Odell, “Digger Odell’s Pontil Medicine Encyclopedia: A Look at America’s Pre-Civil War Medicine Bottles” (2000)

Dick Roller, “The Standard Fruit Jar Reference, Acorn Press”, Paris, Ill. (1984).

Greg Spurgeon, Greg Spurgeon Antiques.

“Women Inventor’s Index”: 1790-1895.

Betty Zumwalt, “Ketchup Pickles Sauces: 19th Century Food in Glass” (1980)

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