Darrell Jones

I don't know Gary's kids but if you do they might get a kick out of this story...

When we were preparing for graduation in 1979 and planning the obligatory senior bonfire it occurred to Gary, Mike Gaubatz and me that we should top the bonfire off with a real outhouse. Yes, an outhouse. Go big or go home. Of course it never occurred to any of us that there might be some less-than-desirable dynamics involved in moving a functioning outhouse. 18 is such a cute age.

Typical 18-year-old rationale – this is small town Texas. How hard can it be to find an outhouse? You just have to look around, right? Ok so now we have a plan – we’re gonna load up and look around. Gary offered to drive. We loaded an ice chest, of course, and jumped in Gary’s truck (El Camino, I think?) and headed west. We combed every back road in Brazoria, West Columbia and even went as far as Sweeny. No luck. Even though this was 40 years ago a rational thinker would surmise that even 40 years ago there probably hadn’t been a real outhouse in use in probably 60 years. This “fact” was lost on us because we were fueled by Miller Lite, raw energy and dedication to the mission, and, oh, those wacky 18-year-old brains.

After several hours and lots of miles, and determined to not be head-butted by reality, we lowered our mission target and settled for a small inclement weather enclosure at a school bus stop somewhere outside of West Columbia. It was, at least, the same shape as an outhouse and roughly the same size (even though we all joked that none of us had ever actually seen an outhouse). Luckily we could pick it up and luckily it fit in GK’s truck bed. Mission accomplished! It was hardly the ceremonial outhouse that we were seeking but we considered the mission a success and we called it an outhouse anyway and not an elementary school bus stop rain shed …

That outhouse did make it to the top of our senior bonfire. Our celebratory picture shows us standing on top of the bonfire with said outhouse about to be blazed, Sander’s, El Rod’s and my spray painted signatures, a crazy Laredo sign that someone crafted for some reason, Scott Sanders mugging it up and me holding an empty Miller Lite bottle with a dead snake hanging out of it celebrating the final stage of Operation Outhouse. It was glorious. I remember doing this and I remember putting the dead snake head-first into that empty bottle. What I can’t remember is why?…And I don’t remember why neither of my partners-in-crime are in the picture. Maybe heads down planning our next mission… As the driver and the de facto leader of us knuckleheads Gary took great pride in this accomplishment. One of my favorite memories from Lake Jackson.

This bonfire and picture were on school property and in our 1979 yearbook BTW. 

Today the sentiment would be ------- Where are their parents…???!!! 

RIP GK, you outhouse-stealing scallywag…