Bachelor in the Kitchen

The Honolulu Advertiser's Bob Krauss is a seasoned journalistic stunt man and the best-read columnist in Hawaii. Once, to test the legendary hospitality of Hawaiians, he walked for a week around the island of Oahu carrying no money, food or blankets, yet was well fed and housed. Krauss's latest stunt grew out of a column in the Advertiser (circ. 68,548) in which he twitted housewives who complain about their hard work "so their husbands will feel guilty enough to do the dishes." When a reader challenged him to try his own hand at the job, Newsman Krauss, a 32-year-old bachelor, agreed to take it on, and 30 mothers offered their households and broods for the experiment.

Krauss deliberately chose a tough spot. Said he: "I was warned not to take a family with all preschool kids because they would wear me out. But I did. I also knew that suspicious women would watch to see whether I picked a home with a Deepfreeze, mangle, maid and easy appliances, so I didn't." He chose the home of Mrs. Norman Dion, 31, wife of a lieutenant commander in the Coast Guard, and mother of Susan, 4, Sally, 3, Melina, 20 months, and Ned, 6 months.

Like Jerking Sodas. Bob Krauss, the second youngest of seven children in Kansas, had never cooked, changed a diaper, made up a feeding formula, or burped a baby. Before taking over Patience Dion's chores, he spent a day watching her performance, gaining the children's confidence and taking copious notes. "I had to have a dry run," he explained. "Most women have nine months to get ready for a child. I had one weekend to get ready for four."

Readers got the story of Krauss's five days of housekeeping (6:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m.) in his column each morning. Alongside, the Advertiser ran Mrs. Dion's version--which often differed. Krauss's first report began on a confident note: "There really isn't much to it. Running a house and taking care of four children takes about the same amount of stamina and nervous energy as jerking sodas." When children get out of bounds, Krauss counseled readers, spank them. (With their parents' consent, he did.) A few things went awry, e.g., little Melina sprayed milk over the windows Krauss had just washed, but he fed the family, bathed the baby, made the beds, did laundry and read fairy tales to the children. Reported Mrs. Dion by phone to the city desk: "He did last the entire day, and there was no blood on any of the children, so I'm happy. I figure it took me two hours to clean things up--no, don't say that--to replace things."

The second day produced another assured column from Krauss. Reported Mrs. Dion: "Susan's hair hasn't been combed since Monday."

Nose Dive. Next day Krauss's report on a trip to the zoo with two of the children and two friends grew a bit edgy: "It was embarrassing having to take little girls to the men's room." He also complained that all four kids at the zoo had insisted on, taking their shoes off, leaving him with pockets and handfuls of mixed pairs. After he got home. Patience Dion let a dozen neighborhood children into the house while Krauss was reading the bedtime story. He shooed them out.

After the fourth day, desperation crept into the column: "First thing this morning, the John in the kids' bathroom got stopped up. Everybody had to use Mommy's and Daddy's. This is like rerouting rush-hour traffic over a goat path." Baby Ned had developed diaper rash, Melina was running a slight temperature. Sally would not eat her oatmeal, and it had looked like rain; so the wash had to be hung in the garage. Admitted the columnist: "My efficiency rating took a nose dive. I failed to get dinner started. I got the kids to bed fifteen minutes late."

As the experiment ended, Krauss breathed more easily: "I still don't think keeping house for a family of four youngsters is particularly difficult. To me, the hardest part of being a mother is boredom. You wash the same dishes every day, fold the same clothes, dust the same bookcases and change the same diapers." A "Krauss hint" for an easier life: mothers in a neighborhood should pool their children so only one mother at a time need watch them. Another: tots should be parked in bigger backyard playpens and not be permitted to interrupt chores even when they start to howl. Said Bachelor Krauss expansively: let them howl. And would he have a try at playing housewife over again? Said he, wincing: "Not unless you can catch me and tie me down."

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