On the surface, Eric Eakin’s Bay Village basement looks rather normal, between the laundry facilities, a Frank Zappa poster on the wall and a well-loved workbench. But step into a small room off the main space, and you’ll find something unexpected: an extensive collection of bedpans.
More precisely, the 72-year-old retired writer for a labor union estimates that he owns 250 bedpans, spanning from the early 19th century to the present day, made of materials such as metal, ceramic and plastic.
A sizable number of bedpans are stacked carefully on shelves, and others are organized in a colorful, jumbled pile on the floor. Some are plain-colored and utilitarian, like ones you might find in a hospital; others have printed designs. A few bedpans have political messages, including a homemade one with “Free Jim Traficant” spelled out in puffy paint and a ceramic one with a Richard Nixon figurehead. One version is made from recycled newspapers, and atop the pile is even a gorgeous bedpan hand-painted with intricate folk art.
“When I had 20, I thought it was a big deal,” Eakin says. “And then 30 and then 50 and then 80. You know, it just kept going.”
Eakin started collecting bedpans somewhat accidentally. During a long-ago trip to England, his mom was gifted a hefty ceramic white bedpan made by the British pharmacy chain Boots as a joke. She hauled it back to the U.S., and Eakin inherited it after she died.
After getting married, he and his wife, Cynthia, had started collecting antiques and visited stores and shows hunting for treasures. Eakin kept seeing chamber pots and bedpans for sale — and decided to focus on collecting the latter since they were less collectible.
“There’s a collector for everything,” he says. “I just happen to be the bedpan guy … and, you know, most of them I get for free. I mean, who’s gonna buy these but me?”
Over the years, Eakin has become somewhat of an expert in the evolution of the bedpan, and he enthusiastically (and drolly) talks about the history and culture surrounding the object. “The most I’ve ever paid was $85 at an antique show outside of Philadelphia,” Eakin says.
Accordingly, he’s only run into a few other dedicated bedpan collectors, most notably a nurse from Alaska with whom he’d get into eBay bidding wars. He’s also amassed a side collection of ephemera from the bedpan extended universe; in this category, prized possessions include a urinal mat with Art Modell’s face he bought for $5 at a ’90s Browns game.
Eakin says his pace of collecting has slowed, though he still has a couple of Holy Grails for which he’s searching, including a rolling urinal dating from the Victorian era.
The bedpan collection reflects Eakin’s sense of humor and joie de vivre. And like any passionate collector, he realizes he needs to make plans for its future — he floats the Dittrick Medical History Center as a potential destination — so his bedpan legacy
remains secure.
“At some point, this collection of 250 bedpans is going to have to go somewhere,” he says.
Ever a writer, he playfully suggests a snappy stinger: “How does he relieve himself of this?”
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