Monday, April 17, 2006
Anti-Sex Snacks!
Sylvester Graham was born in 1794 to the Reverend John Graham. He was the 17th child of his 72-year-old father. Now right off the bat you can easily surmise that the old man was taking the scripture to his heart—especially the part that said, “Be fruitful and multiply.” He was certainly a diligent begetter. There is no way to tell when Sylvester first learned of the birds and the bees, but we do know that he could not have learned from his father who died before he had the opportunity to pass any such useful knowledge on to his son. Sylvester lived during a time when sex was frowned upon. It was generally taught that if a woman had sex more than three or four times a year, there was a strong possibility that she would be headed to an early grave.
While old man Graham must have made the best of his three or four times a year, Sylvester was another story. He became an avid crusader against sex. He wrote “The Young Man’s Guide to Chastity.” He recommended hard mattresses, cold showers, loose clothing and open bedroom windows. If that were not enough, in 1829 he came up with own special invention to damper sexual ardor wherever and whenever it might appear—the Graham Cracker. It was the first failsafe anti-sex snack. It was made from “Graham flour” which was milled from coarsely ground whole wheat. It was to be baked at home. No need to take any chances. Bakers took offense. And in 1837 he was attacked by a mob of Boston bakers. It is surprising that the Graham cracker survived at all. But, as almost everyone knows, the product is alive and well. True it is no longer made with Graham flour. And a lot of the brands now include honey to provide extra energy for those who might need it. The Graham Cracker has lost its fizzle.
Another old time anti-sex snack is saltpeter. Technically it is not exactly a snack per se since it actually falls in the category of an additive. It tastes somewhat like gunpowder because it is a common ingredient in gunpowder. Now why would anybody knowingly eat gunpowder? No one! No one, that is, who is willing and knowing. Culprits sneak it into our food in the wee areas of the morning.
My first exposure to saltpeter came when I was a junior in high school. I was in an elite group of students who were being shipped off to Fort Robinson for a week of Arkansas Boy’s State, a youth-in- government program run by the American Legion. We arrived and were immediately assigned to an assortment of small army huts. I don’t know exactly what our expectations were supposed to be. I do know that this was a time of life for young males when a great deal of their time is spent thinking about what else but girls. Girls on the mind. But it was also an awkward time for young males. Ever since their voices had started to change, they were easily embarrassed. Let a girl walk past or catch a whiff of perfume and most of us would give the involuntary military salute. It was the curse of being a teen. For what other reasons we were at Fort Robinson one thing was certain. We all expected to hear lurid tales of females while we were there. Lots and lots of lurid tales.
Trouble began the next morning at breakfast. As we grabbed our trays and handed down the line to the food, someone whispered. There is saltpeter in the eggs. Most of us had never heard of that word. Several people whispered under their breath, “What is it? What does it do?” “It neuters you! Stupid!” “What?” “Yep. It takes away your interest in girls.” “What did you say?” “You heard me the first time. Just don’t eat the eggs!” So the only people who ate eggs for breakfast were the old guys there—guys who had long since lost interest in girls, or in their case women.
Soon after breakfast we were all assembled for a morning drill. “Fall in! March!” Now sing “I got a girl in New Orleans!” Now normally any normal teen would already be giving the military salute while the words “New Orleans” still resonated on his tongue. But not today. No one saluted. Not a soul. People looked around and saw panic on each other’s faces. It was not in the eggs. It had to be somewhere else.
That night at supper, someone whispered, “It’s mixed in with the pepper. It’s black. They put it there so no one will recognize it.” Everyone who had eaten any pepper earlier in the day suddenly felt sick to his stomach. After supper a couple of guys in my hut decided they were going to skip the rest of the meetings that evening. While everyone trudged off, they took out a deck of cards and began playing. Soon they came face to face with disaster. A counselor was prowling around with a flashlight, checking for any laggards. One jumped into bed and pulled his covers up. The other jumped behind where the open door was going to be. The counselor shined his light on the bed and spotted his prey. The boy made a telling case that he was sick. And the counselor bought it—until he turned to go and spotted the other boy. They were each given five minutes to make it to the meeting or else. They might have survived if they had simply told the truth. “We really are sick. The saltpeter caused it.”
And so it went for the rest of the week. Rumors flew at breakfast and were subsequently dismissed as improbable as the day wore on. No additives were ever discovered. And we all returned home a wee bit frazzled and bedraggled. Of course after a few days our manhood returned. We were later assured that everything we thought we knew about saltpeter was false.
Why would a group of three or four hundred young teens even worry about a hidden danger in their food? There were no girls anywhere for miles and miles. And any effects that we might have experienced would have been temporary anyway. But it was the principle. These were after all army huts and our leaders were all members of the American Legion. No need to let them get their hooks into you at such an early age. Now just don’t pass the pepper.
Sylvester Graham was born in 1794 to the Reverend John Graham. He was the 17th child of his 72-year-old father. Now right off the bat you can easily surmise that the old man was taking the scripture to his heart—especially the part that said, “Be fruitful and multiply.” He was certainly a diligent begetter. There is no way to tell when Sylvester first learned of the birds and the bees, but we do know that he could not have learned from his father who died before he had the opportunity to pass any such useful knowledge on to his son. Sylvester lived during a time when sex was frowned upon. It was generally taught that if a woman had sex more than three or four times a year, there was a strong possibility that she would be headed to an early grave.
While old man Graham must have made the best of his three or four times a year, Sylvester was another story. He became an avid crusader against sex. He wrote “The Young Man’s Guide to Chastity.” He recommended hard mattresses, cold showers, loose clothing and open bedroom windows. If that were not enough, in 1829 he came up with own special invention to damper sexual ardor wherever and whenever it might appear—the Graham Cracker. It was the first failsafe anti-sex snack. It was made from “Graham flour” which was milled from coarsely ground whole wheat. It was to be baked at home. No need to take any chances. Bakers took offense. And in 1837 he was attacked by a mob of Boston bakers. It is surprising that the Graham cracker survived at all. But, as almost everyone knows, the product is alive and well. True it is no longer made with Graham flour. And a lot of the brands now include honey to provide extra energy for those who might need it. The Graham Cracker has lost its fizzle.
Another old time anti-sex snack is saltpeter. Technically it is not exactly a snack per se since it actually falls in the category of an additive. It tastes somewhat like gunpowder because it is a common ingredient in gunpowder. Now why would anybody knowingly eat gunpowder? No one! No one, that is, who is willing and knowing. Culprits sneak it into our food in the wee areas of the morning.
My first exposure to saltpeter came when I was a junior in high school. I was in an elite group of students who were being shipped off to Fort Robinson for a week of Arkansas Boy’s State, a youth-in- government program run by the American Legion. We arrived and were immediately assigned to an assortment of small army huts. I don’t know exactly what our expectations were supposed to be. I do know that this was a time of life for young males when a great deal of their time is spent thinking about what else but girls. Girls on the mind. But it was also an awkward time for young males. Ever since their voices had started to change, they were easily embarrassed. Let a girl walk past or catch a whiff of perfume and most of us would give the involuntary military salute. It was the curse of being a teen. For what other reasons we were at Fort Robinson one thing was certain. We all expected to hear lurid tales of females while we were there. Lots and lots of lurid tales.
Trouble began the next morning at breakfast. As we grabbed our trays and handed down the line to the food, someone whispered. There is saltpeter in the eggs. Most of us had never heard of that word. Several people whispered under their breath, “What is it? What does it do?” “It neuters you! Stupid!” “What?” “Yep. It takes away your interest in girls.” “What did you say?” “You heard me the first time. Just don’t eat the eggs!” So the only people who ate eggs for breakfast were the old guys there—guys who had long since lost interest in girls, or in their case women.
Soon after breakfast we were all assembled for a morning drill. “Fall in! March!” Now sing “I got a girl in New Orleans!” Now normally any normal teen would already be giving the military salute while the words “New Orleans” still resonated on his tongue. But not today. No one saluted. Not a soul. People looked around and saw panic on each other’s faces. It was not in the eggs. It had to be somewhere else.
That night at supper, someone whispered, “It’s mixed in with the pepper. It’s black. They put it there so no one will recognize it.” Everyone who had eaten any pepper earlier in the day suddenly felt sick to his stomach. After supper a couple of guys in my hut decided they were going to skip the rest of the meetings that evening. While everyone trudged off, they took out a deck of cards and began playing. Soon they came face to face with disaster. A counselor was prowling around with a flashlight, checking for any laggards. One jumped into bed and pulled his covers up. The other jumped behind where the open door was going to be. The counselor shined his light on the bed and spotted his prey. The boy made a telling case that he was sick. And the counselor bought it—until he turned to go and spotted the other boy. They were each given five minutes to make it to the meeting or else. They might have survived if they had simply told the truth. “We really are sick. The saltpeter caused it.”
And so it went for the rest of the week. Rumors flew at breakfast and were subsequently dismissed as improbable as the day wore on. No additives were ever discovered. And we all returned home a wee bit frazzled and bedraggled. Of course after a few days our manhood returned. We were later assured that everything we thought we knew about saltpeter was false.
Why would a group of three or four hundred young teens even worry about a hidden danger in their food? There were no girls anywhere for miles and miles. And any effects that we might have experienced would have been temporary anyway. But it was the principle. These were after all army huts and our leaders were all members of the American Legion. No need to let them get their hooks into you at such an early age. Now just don’t pass the pepper.
