Fighting Our Flush Fixation

Those who didn't "were uncomfortable, and understandably so, with not flushing," she said. "For years we've been telling our kids to flush, and now we're telling them not to."

The flush toilet has long been a symbol of modern society. But water shortages and sewage-related pollution have caused many societies to rethink that symbolism. In Europe, water-saving toilets have been standard for decades. But not until 1994 did U.S. federal law require 1.6-gallon toilets, cutting the water used each flush by more than half.

In a nation where flush sizes have dwindled from a World War II-era high of seven gallons, the law fueled a backlash. Reports soon surfaced of an underground trade in big-flush commodes from across the Mexican and Canadian borders. U.S. Rep. Joe Knollenberg (R-Mich.), backed by Americans who wanted government to stay out of their bathrooms, sponsored a failed effort a few years later to repeal the 1994 law.

The Tower Cos. of Bethesda started building green a decade ago, partner Jeffrey Abramson said, because workers in such buildings are "healthier, happier, more successful."

When the company's latest office tower, 2000 Tower Oaks Blvd. in Rockville, opens in 2008, it will boast full daylight views and triple-filtered air. Doors will be made of chopped, pressed straw. The landscaping conserves water.

Such innovations sailed into the plans. Then came a debate over restroom fixtures that culminated in what Abramson calls the "toilet summit."

In a wood-paneled conference room, 30 executives, architects and engineers gathered around a model of the Caroma Caravelle 305 High Performance Dual Flush. (Dual flush units let users choose what size flush they need.)

As they watched, the Caroma salesman tossed four tennis balls into the imported Australian toilet and flushed them all down, using less than a gallon of water. He was battling "the perception that you've got to flush these toilets twice to get a good flush," senior project manager David Borchardt said.

The flushes succeeded, but the toilet did not. Developers chose waterless urinals and low-flow faucets but no Caroma, which could have saved thousands of gallons of water a year. Abramson said the model failed because it lacked a hygienic, hands-free sensor.

Borchardt had another theory: "Americans just aren't used to these yet."

Chuck Foster stood in the basement of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation's headquarters in Annapolis, next to a playhouse-size metal tank. Flipping open its lid, the foundation's chief of staff revealed nearly finished compost.

When the foundation built its headquarters five years ago, it installed 12 Swedish compost toilets that cost $30,000 more to install than conventional toilets but save $2,100 a year on water and sewage. The compost enriches the building's natural landscaping.

"These are becoming more accepted," Foster said, "But this was a rough one even for us to pull off."

The toilets are white and sleek. The compost pile lies about 10 feet beneath a plastic chute. Near each toilet stands a pail of wood chips, with a sign inviting people to toss in a handful after each use.

That's not really necessary, Foster said. It's for people, he said, "who want to flush."

"They want some kind of closure."