by Kari Apted

The Poopsmith. Dunnymen. Septic suckers. "We've heard all the jokes," says Jeff Chambers, owner of JC Septic Service in Monroe, Ga. "Most people are polite when they find out what I do, but some people make fun of us."

Whatever you call them, they provide a valuable, if unglamorous, service. Some are drawn to the business because of its recession-proof nature, but Jeff learned the trade by working for his father's septic service. In high school, Jeff planned to become an architect, but realized he preferred working outdoors. The family tradition continued when Jeff's son, Jason, joined the company.

The Chambers enjoy meeting people and building long-term relationships with clients. Job security is another bonus. "It's a service that will always be needed no matter what the economy's like," Jeff says.

This day, the Chambers head to the home of Marvin Stringer, a customer for more than 25 years. When father and son arrive on the job site, safety is a simple concern. "We just wear gloves. We don't touch anything without gloves."

Jeff Chambers uses a rod to probe the ground until he finds the tank. Then he begins shoveling a corner of Stringer's lush lawn to uncover the concrete pit beneath. Next, he uses a backhoe to dig two small holes over the septic tank, each approximately 2 feet square. Jason hooks a metal rod through one lid, lifting the concrete slab. Water bubbles up through a web of white and tan debris as a foul odor mingles with the humid air. "There isn't anything you can do to improve the smell. You just get used to it," Jason says.

Like a witch slowly stirring a cauldron, Jeff uses a long metal paddle to break up the surface sludge while Jason unrolls yards of hose. The hum of the pumper's engine becomes a roar as Jason switches on the vacuum and drops the hose into the hole.

"Now the smell really begins," Jason warns as gurgling sounds accent the roar of the pumper truck. The odor of a thousand soiled diapers permeates the air as the Chambers work, unfazed by the stench. The men are there for nearly an hour, bending over the first opening, then the second, until the tank is empty.

"We've lost quite a few sunglasses and cell phones down there," Jason remarks. "But when they fall in, they stay in."

Stringer says he wouldn't let anyone else work on his tank. "They are good, honest people and they are easy to deal with," he says. "If he tells you he'll be there, he'll be there."