Having traveled extensively, this writer is convinced that any list of the world's most beautiful places would certainly include the South Pacific island country of Fiji. Having been to this great place at least four times, the sights sounds and smells are forever burned into the mind and heart. It is everything one would expect in an island paradise.
There is, however, a Fiji that travel brochures never show. It is a world of hard work in sugar cane fields, substandard housing, poverty, and other Spartan conditions that many spoiled Americans would never envision nor tolerate. One of these would certainly have to be the presence of stark, repulsive, Fijian body odor ("B.O.").
"Stink" on a Fijian male is considered manly and cool. The more he stinks, the more manly and cooler he is. There are no shelves of Brut or Polo in most Fijian grocery and department stores. The United States Marines that served in the Pacific during World War II came home telling of the islander's word for aftershave lotion and cologne. They called it, "Fufu Water."
The, "Fijian Funk," has a staying power that is amazing.
"Stink" on a Fijian male is considered manly and cool. The more he stinks, the more manly and cooler he is. There are no shelves of Brut or Polo in most Fijian grocery and department stores. The United States Marines that served in the Pacific during World War II came home telling of the islander's word for aftershave lotion and cologne. They called it, "Fufu Water."
The, "Fijian Funk," has a staying power that is amazing.
This writer once rode for a few hours in a small, Japanese car, surrounded by four very large, and very manly, Fijian men. These men eventually got out of the car, but the odor never did. Nor did it ever come out of this American tourist's clothes. After several washings and one valiant effort at outdoor fumigation, the clothes finally had to be sent to the county landfill.
"Fijian Female Funk" is almost as potent as its male counterpart. One very large, very sweaty, Fijian woman passionately bear-hugged this American's neck back in 1994. The smell of that encounter very nearly caused an old Southern boy to faint dead away. The stench from the aforementioned landfill would not even have come close to this Fijian "Marama's" smell.
In remembering the smell of these, otherwise wonderful, island people, a journey into one's childhood seems in order. After all, Fijians and skunks are not the only smells that linger in the mind and nasal cavities for years after the fact.
Joe Cox was one of the most mischievous boys in Mrs. Ragsdale's sixth grade class at the Chattahoochee Elementary School in Riverside. He was a tall, blonde, freckle-faced lad, with an athletic build. Joe did not apply himself in school either academically or behaviorally, and as a result was frequently made to stay after school. Joe logged more than a few hours performing various forms of disciplinary rehabilitation.
When the task was cleaning the blackboards, Joe found a way to get around using only one eraser. His practice was to grab an eraser in each hand, while standing in a chair or school desk with his derriere facing the board. This way, he could "wipe" the board with two erasers and the seat of his pants at the same time.
Or, if the task was writing five hundred times the phrase, "I must not interrupt the teacher in class," Joe was equally as inventive. He would Scotch tape up to seven pencils together. Thus, one sachet of his large hand across a notebook paper line would produce multiple sentences of punishment instead of one.
Joe Cox's crowning moment of delinquency came on a fateful day when he was introduced to the innate power of observance and judgment in a female school teacher. His weapon of choice was a tiny vial of the world's most powerful and unforgettable smell.
"Apple Blossom" was its name. It was a yellow liquid that resembled the old Vitalis hair lotion that many school boys were forced to wear during those years. Apple Blossom came in an almost microscopic-sized bottle, with a small, black screw-on cap. Its tiny size did not do justice to the danger lurking inside. This was no Fufu Water.
Apple Blossom smelled worse than a combination of rotting flesh, spoiled milk, extreme flatulence, and a paper mill running full tilt on a south Mississippi summer afternoon. One whiff of this potion made the eyes water profusely, and the nose recoil in rank disgust.
No one ever asked when or how Joe Cox got his first snort of Apple Blossom. But, it was he who attempted to introduce his sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Joan Ragsdale, to her first bottle.
It was a Monday morning in the late Fall of 1966. Joe came into class, late as usual, and immediately had a confrontation with Mrs. Ragsdale. She was noticeably irritated by both the chronic tardiness, and his repeated failure to produce written excuses from home for it. When he finally sat down at his desk, instead of taking out his books, Joe took out his Apple Blossom.
He opened the tiny bottle and began shoving it into the faces of students seated around him. With audible objections from each, they forcefully pushed Joe's hand away. The disruption attracted Mrs. Ragsdale's attention. She noted the commotion and scolded the students, ordering them to cease their noisemaking.
Finally, after a few minutes of this, Joe Cox raised his hand. Surprised at this sudden and unusual display of classroom etiquette, Mrs. Ragsdale asked him what he wanted.
Joe made up a story about one of the girls sitting near him. He said that she was trying to put perfume on him as a prank, and that he had wrestled the bottle away from her. He offered to bring it up to Mrs. Ragsdale's desk. When she agreed, the students began trying to warn their teacher that this was not the truth, and that Joe was attempting to play a stinky prank on her.
She summoned Joe to the front desk.
"Joe," she said in a voice loud enough to be heard down the hall of the Chattahoochee school building, "I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention." Joe turned toward the class, beaming as if he was about to get away with something.
"Joe," Mrs. Ragsdale continued, "I'm sure your mother wears perfume, doesn't she?" Joe shook his head in affirmation. "Good," she continued, "then I am going to make sure I give her this 'perfume' when she comes up to school tomorrow night for P.T.A. I am sure she will enjoy it."
What Joe didn't know was that Mrs. Ragsdale had seen what he was doing earlier with the Apple Blossom. She knew full well that he and his "perfume" were the cause of the noise in class, and that he was now trying to prank her. This was her chance to make an impression on this prince of class clowns.
Joe's fellow students leaned forward in their desks, soaking in Mrs. Ragsdale's every word. Many had been the objects of Joe's practical jokes, with some having been implicated as his accomplices, and punished because of his antics. This hooligan was about to get, "his," and they were glad.
"Joe," she said, "I don't believe you got this from a girl...And, I don't believe it is perfume...I believe it is a stink bomb...You just wanted me to open it so I would be repulsed by the smell."
Joe was now staring wide-eyed at Mrs. Ragsdale - his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
"Joe," she went on, "tell you what I'm going to do...I'm going to give you a choice...Either you take this stink bomb, open it, and put a big finger full under each of your ears and on each side of your neck so you'll be forced to smell it all day long, or else I am going to give this bottle to your mother tomorrow night and tell her what you tried to do with it this morning in my classroom."
The class almost erupted.
Before Joe could reply, Mrs. Ragsdale informed him that once he had put the Apple Blossom on, not to think that he would stay in her classroom and punish the rest of the students by their having to smell him all day long. Rather, Joe would spend the day in detention hall, all by himself, sitting at a desk far removed from anyone else, with one pencil in his hand instead of seven, writing a thousand times, "I will not play practical jokes in Mrs. Ragsdale’s class."
These were his only punishment options. Mrs. Ragsdale stood as she finished the lecture. "Alright, Joe...Which will it be?" she calmly and firmly asked.
After several seconds of silent deliberation, Joe dropped his head and contritely chose the first of Mrs. Ragsdale's two options. He knew full well the severity of the beatings he would receive from his parents if they "caught wind" of what he had tried to do with the Apple Blossom. A day spent in detention, smelling like Apple Blossom, was without question the lesser of the two evils.
Mrs. Ragsdale made Joe stand in front of the class and apply the Apple Blossom under his earlobes and on his neck. She then led him by the hand down the hall to detention. It was the most humiliating day of his life.
After that day, Joe Cox was a changed young man. He rarely tormented his schoolmates again with practical jokes or misbehavior.
Still, the Apple Blossom bottle sat on Mrs. Ragsdale's desk for the remainder of the school year. It was her way of reminding Joe that she was smarter than a sixth grader, and that "stink" did not belong in her classroom.
With every personal encounter on those fragrant trips to Fiji, while Joe Cox was not present in person, his smell and his memory certainly were.
"Well I'll Be John Brown"
- David Decker
March 5, 2011
Or, if the task was writing five hundred times the phrase, "I must not interrupt the teacher in class," Joe was equally as inventive. He would Scotch tape up to seven pencils together. Thus, one sachet of his large hand across a notebook paper line would produce multiple sentences of punishment instead of one.
Joe Cox's crowning moment of delinquency came on a fateful day when he was introduced to the innate power of observance and judgment in a female school teacher. His weapon of choice was a tiny vial of the world's most powerful and unforgettable smell.
"Apple Blossom" was its name. It was a yellow liquid that resembled the old Vitalis hair lotion that many school boys were forced to wear during those years. Apple Blossom came in an almost microscopic-sized bottle, with a small, black screw-on cap. Its tiny size did not do justice to the danger lurking inside. This was no Fufu Water.
Apple Blossom smelled worse than a combination of rotting flesh, spoiled milk, extreme flatulence, and a paper mill running full tilt on a south Mississippi summer afternoon. One whiff of this potion made the eyes water profusely, and the nose recoil in rank disgust.
No one ever asked when or how Joe Cox got his first snort of Apple Blossom. But, it was he who attempted to introduce his sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Joan Ragsdale, to her first bottle.
It was a Monday morning in the late Fall of 1966. Joe came into class, late as usual, and immediately had a confrontation with Mrs. Ragsdale. She was noticeably irritated by both the chronic tardiness, and his repeated failure to produce written excuses from home for it. When he finally sat down at his desk, instead of taking out his books, Joe took out his Apple Blossom.
He opened the tiny bottle and began shoving it into the faces of students seated around him. With audible objections from each, they forcefully pushed Joe's hand away. The disruption attracted Mrs. Ragsdale's attention. She noted the commotion and scolded the students, ordering them to cease their noisemaking.
Finally, after a few minutes of this, Joe Cox raised his hand. Surprised at this sudden and unusual display of classroom etiquette, Mrs. Ragsdale asked him what he wanted.
Joe made up a story about one of the girls sitting near him. He said that she was trying to put perfume on him as a prank, and that he had wrestled the bottle away from her. He offered to bring it up to Mrs. Ragsdale's desk. When she agreed, the students began trying to warn their teacher that this was not the truth, and that Joe was attempting to play a stinky prank on her.
She summoned Joe to the front desk.
"Joe," she said in a voice loud enough to be heard down the hall of the Chattahoochee school building, "I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention." Joe turned toward the class, beaming as if he was about to get away with something.
"Joe," Mrs. Ragsdale continued, "I'm sure your mother wears perfume, doesn't she?" Joe shook his head in affirmation. "Good," she continued, "then I am going to make sure I give her this 'perfume' when she comes up to school tomorrow night for P.T.A. I am sure she will enjoy it."
What Joe didn't know was that Mrs. Ragsdale had seen what he was doing earlier with the Apple Blossom. She knew full well that he and his "perfume" were the cause of the noise in class, and that he was now trying to prank her. This was her chance to make an impression on this prince of class clowns.
Joe's fellow students leaned forward in their desks, soaking in Mrs. Ragsdale's every word. Many had been the objects of Joe's practical jokes, with some having been implicated as his accomplices, and punished because of his antics. This hooligan was about to get, "his," and they were glad.
"Joe," she said, "I don't believe you got this from a girl...And, I don't believe it is perfume...I believe it is a stink bomb...You just wanted me to open it so I would be repulsed by the smell."
Joe was now staring wide-eyed at Mrs. Ragsdale - his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
"Joe," she went on, "tell you what I'm going to do...I'm going to give you a choice...Either you take this stink bomb, open it, and put a big finger full under each of your ears and on each side of your neck so you'll be forced to smell it all day long, or else I am going to give this bottle to your mother tomorrow night and tell her what you tried to do with it this morning in my classroom."
The class almost erupted.
Before Joe could reply, Mrs. Ragsdale informed him that once he had put the Apple Blossom on, not to think that he would stay in her classroom and punish the rest of the students by their having to smell him all day long. Rather, Joe would spend the day in detention hall, all by himself, sitting at a desk far removed from anyone else, with one pencil in his hand instead of seven, writing a thousand times, "I will not play practical jokes in Mrs. Ragsdale’s class."
These were his only punishment options. Mrs. Ragsdale stood as she finished the lecture. "Alright, Joe...Which will it be?" she calmly and firmly asked.
After several seconds of silent deliberation, Joe dropped his head and contritely chose the first of Mrs. Ragsdale's two options. He knew full well the severity of the beatings he would receive from his parents if they "caught wind" of what he had tried to do with the Apple Blossom. A day spent in detention, smelling like Apple Blossom, was without question the lesser of the two evils.
Mrs. Ragsdale made Joe stand in front of the class and apply the Apple Blossom under his earlobes and on his neck. She then led him by the hand down the hall to detention. It was the most humiliating day of his life.
After that day, Joe Cox was a changed young man. He rarely tormented his schoolmates again with practical jokes or misbehavior.
Still, the Apple Blossom bottle sat on Mrs. Ragsdale's desk for the remainder of the school year. It was her way of reminding Joe that she was smarter than a sixth grader, and that "stink" did not belong in her classroom.
With every personal encounter on those fragrant trips to Fiji, while Joe Cox was not present in person, his smell and his memory certainly were.
"Well I'll Be John Brown"
- David Decker
March 5, 2011
I will be thinking of you when you heard out for Fiji again. Had no idea of the odor.
ReplyDeleteAnother interesting story.